by The Dreamer

Before this trip to Europe, I wished for two things. Safety and someone to crush on in this trip. And my wish was granted. (Excuse my over excessive gushing)

There is this boy. He looks old enough to be 19, but he’s 16 like me. And he was everything I looked for in a perfect guy — appearance wise. Hair that is black but turns brown when sunlight filters through. Fringe that is combed up, showing his perfectly masculine eyebrows. A beautiful v shaped jaw. Lips that are small, the lower lip full. Eyes rimmed with lashes thicker than a forest, with intense gazes.

He is quiet and brooding. He only wears black. And when he smiles, his cheeks rise up and magically turn flushed. We locked eyes trice.
I walk behind him sometimes as we trudge past the ancient ruins of Troy. His steps are silent and solid, and his white Converses stay weirdly pristine and clean even when we pass the dirtiest tracks. He puts his hands in his pockets and looks at the floor, always.

It rained today. He got soaked through and through, but he seemed collected in the rain, his walking pace the same, his brooding face the same. He cooly took off his black jacket and throws it over his head, holding up the edges as he walks through the rain. He was ridiculously handsome.

We’re going to ride a hot air balloon tomorrow. I hope to stand beside him quietly,  as we gaze at the dawn sun enveloping the horizon and we bask in the warm glow. It will be so romantic.

My mind is noisy with stupid scenarios that I can only dream of.

Him. 16, silent and male.
Him, because I don’t know his name.
Him, because he will never notice me. (my grandmother has talked to him more than I ever will. Sigh. )