Dedicated to the person who will never read this. I miss you more with every day that passes.

"About a Girl" – The Academy Is…

He was always waiting.

dear elizaveta

He would wait. And while he waited, he would watch her and her long brown hair that danced in the light, her smile as bright as the sun, her green eyes the color of two blades of grass on a summer afternoon, dancing in the wind.

i can never breathe

Every day he sat in the same spot in the café with his friends Antonio and Francis. She would always walk in, and he would feel a desperate hope inside him, a hope that she would turn towards their table, noticing him the way he always seemed to notice her. Hoping that she would walk over and scratch the surface.

around you, you're just

But she never did. She was always with him, and he was the bane of his existence. He had brown hair and heart-shaped face and glasses and mole and dignified manner. Like he was better than everyone. The guy never smiled—he didn't need to. He got the message across just fine. She outshined him by far. She didn't need him.

too beautiful, i can't

He wished desperately that she would open her eyes and see him, really see him, and not just glance over him like he was part of the wall. He was someone to be noticed. He was right there. Why couldn't she see? Why couldn't she see him like he saw her? He was a goddamn person and he wanted to be noticed!

help but notice how

No one knew about it, the desperation inside of him. He dismissed it, rejected it inside of himself even as it bubbled up when she walked by. He wouldn't dare tell anyone for fear of what would happen—Gott, what would he do? No, he wasn't in love with her. No, that was a ridiculous idea. She couldn't possibly notice someone like him, let alone love. He was awkward, and pale, and ugly, and obvious, and desperate. Who the hell would like anyone like him? Hair bleached bone white, long skinny limbs, eyes like a vampire's—red-violet. Gott, no one would ever like anyone like that.

you smile like sunshine

He was definitely not in love with her, he reasoned. He shouldn't waste his daydreams on her. He should stop imagining them holding hands and walking down the hallway together. He should stop imagining them sending useless texts to each other. He should stop imagining them lying together in the grass at night, side-by-side, looking at the stars. He should keep his fantasies out of even the slightest notion of them watching a movie together and falling asleep to it. Definitely nowhere near a dinner together at some expensive restaurant. Not even close to going on and kissing at the top of the Ferris wheel.

you know i just

He needed to put the thought of holding that thin, delicate, cream-colored hand in his own out of his head. He needed to forget how her green eyes shone when she smiled, how they twinkled when she laughed, how they would look into his reddish ones with a comfort that he'd never known and so desperately wanted. He needed to forget the softness of her hair as it shone in the sun, the light, feathery feel of it under his hands as he brought her face up to hers and kissed her, kissed her cheeks and forehead and chin and those pink, pink lips that he would never stop kissing…

want to be loved

The words always came to him at night, as he lay in bed and waited for sleep to take him away. He would know what to say to her then, the perfect lines he would rehearse to himself for hours, as he curled up around the empty spot in his chest that he'd set aside… a nagging feeling told him that it was for her, that spot that she would fill when they would be together, but he pushed it away. Even then he would say the words to himself, and he wouldn't ever be tongue-tied or overloaded with emotion or idiotic as Antonio was around tomatoes. But she would never be there to hear them.

what more can i ask?

He wasn't in love, he told himself firmly. He wouldn't write a song for her, he wouldn't act like an idiot, he wouldn't constantly ask about her, he wouldn't dream in brown hair and green eyes and warm skin and emotions that filled him up and ate away at him at the same time. He wasn't in love, he wasn't going to waste these sentimental, silly words about her, he wasn't going to think about any of it.

i'm standing right here

It wasn't his heart she'd taken. It wasn't. It wasn't his heart that pounded in his ears when she walked by. It wsn't his heart that jumped at every mention of her name. It wasn't his heart that skipped a beat when she smiled. It wasn't his heart that beat for her. No, it was someone else's heart. Someone else's heart believed in her as fully as that heart that was in his chest.

so look at me

The song he wrote was not for her. It was about a girl. Just a girl. Not for her. It would never be about her, he'd never waste his time writing an entire freaking song about her. He'd never waste something that precious on someone like her, someone who had already found someone to love, albeit a person with nothing notable about him. She was someone who was always passing by him, someone who never listened to him, someone who never saw him for who he was.

i'm in love with you

He didn't want her. He didn't want to fill his heart with her, didn't need to see her, to hear her voice, to hear her laugh, to touch her, to cup her cheek in his hands, to press his lips to her own, to hold her in his arms and never let go. To fill the empty space in his chest that so desperately wanted it. He didn't want any of that. None of it. He wouldn't have it. He wouldn't have her.

so love me back

It wasn't worth it. Everyone wanted to be loved. What was the big deal? He didn't need it. He would gladly throw it all away. All of it. The song he'd written and poured his heart into, the letters he'd printed so carefully on sheets of paper, the flowers he'd let die in the vase, the pictures he'd painstakingly drawn, none of it was significant. He'd gladly throw it away. So gladly. He didn't need them. He didn't need them.


And yet when he made to throw all of it away, his hands refused to move. His fingers remained clutching all of it, all the reminders of her, all the reminders of his love for her. His heart contracted around the feelings, and he ground his teeth. Gott, what was wrong with him? It shouldn't have been this hard! He could feel the tickling in the back of his eyes as the tears threatened to slip over and fall down his face. He didn't love her, so what was the matter?


He was lying. He could taste it in his mouth, even unspoken. He could taste the lies.


A/N: I'm sorry, I know I said I would do a Franz Ferdinand song next, but this song played on Pandora and it spoke to me, all right?

Next one will be the Franz Ferdinand and then I'll get to the requests, I promise! Over and out ~