He's in my English this year. Again. God, I sound like some love-sick thirteen year old. I hate this. I hate hearing him talk, I hate hearing him laugh, I hate knowing that I have to see him every other day. I hate that he remembered that I love to collect pens, but at the same time, it made me smile. How can something you hate so much, make you glow on the inside?
I wish I understood more about him. We never speak, except the occasional word if absolutely necessary. I don't really know him at all, only that everything about him makes me shiver in delight. I sat there in English today willing him to shut up, to stop laughing, to stop smiling, to stop being so effing beautiful. As though it does any good to hate someone for being everything you ever dreamed of.
Not that I would know. I've only ever worried about school and music, no time for even my friends before this... but now... I don't know.
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