• He sees the stars,
    He looks next to him,
    She is there.
    She is pretty.

    No, he thinks,
    More than pretty.
    She is special.
    Special in her own way.

    Her hair is nice.
    It smells good,
    But it's an ordinary brown.
    But he likes it.

    It is soft to the touch,
    No knots,
    Because she combs it everyday.
    He likes that.

    Her eyes are green,
    They have no end to them.
    They go on and on, the emeralds they are,
    He likes that, too.

    She is not a tall girl,
    Not a supermodel.
    She is small and skinny,
    But he likes that.

    She wears ordinary clothes,
    Not popular brand names,
    He is the not the same... Yet,
    That is why he likes that.

    He likes everything about her.
    Does she feel the same?
    Does she feel fluttery inside,
    When he looks at her?


    She looks back at him.
    He is staring at her.
    Why is he doing that?
    She is frustrated.

    His hair is blond,
    Exactly why he is one.
    One of what?
    Of the popular crowd.

    His eyes are blue,
    Just like sapphires.
    His skin is a tan colour,
    His smile brilliant white.

    She knows he feels that way,
    That way about her.
    She knows the word.
    It is love.

    Yet she can't do the same.
    He is different,
    But enticing.
    But she still can't.

    She thinks.
    He thinks.
    Their thoughts are different.
    Not unusual.

    Not for two different people.