The Girl Pt. 1

She
is art. art, art,
art.
	

The
type in which every time you say the word, contemplate any piece and
she pops up. She isn’t the type you spot up for sell (because
the artistry is too wondrous) or the type that anyone could even
afford the immense cost of such pulchritude. She is the sun, or work
of art, or masterpiece any artist unfathomably dreamt of. You know,
like she could fit in any century and exceed any to ever exist. 

She just has this power. Don't ask
because I truly don't know. I imagine, (and yes my imagination is
very strong apparently, blah blah cliché romance blah) going
on a school trip and miraculously she's in my class. As if that's not
lucky enough, I invent this love drunk idea that I may actually sit
next to her on the bus. Crazy, right? 

Unfortunately,
it doesn't work how I plan because I already used all my luck to even
be able to breathe the same air as her, (no matter the distance I
believe she breathes out just for me to breathe in, is that pathetic?
I hope not). She's so cool, the real cool kid that sits in the back
while there's an endless tunnel of shouted bids for the seat next to
her. Aisles flood so I just sit about half way back, not too far back
where I don't belong, but not too close to the front (which would
lead me down the path to never sit in the back) which is cool, right?
Well anyways, I sit with some kid I didn't even recognize. As if it
mattered the bus ride was for two things; 1. to reach point b from
point a and then point a to point b 2. to constantly glance back as
if I were trying to see the cars in an imaginary pursuit of her, but
really just to look back and inhale her. 

Supposedly
our great class adventure is to the city art museum, (but we have the
only piece worth wasting time on right before our eyes, I'll never
get how everyone else couldn't understand, I mean it was so simple)
which only added up to not having to be at school so everyone
supported it obviously. Group by group, we roar into the building.
Some chaperones showed up to dissect the class to attempt to make the
experience less monotonous, and I guess being the shy, lonely kid had
it's perk as I kind of just shaded in her group, close enough to
count but not close enough to be noticed.  

Our
first quest to conquer was the baroque period, (you know those
doodles and buildings from the 17th and 18th century) led by Giovanni
Bernini. I could imagine being one of his statue creations, frozen in
time, along with her of course, for the pure visual enjoyment of
others even though the enjoyment would be all mine. His sculpture
"Apollo and Daphne" or "I and Her" if I had it my
way. She had my eye the whole time, flowing in and out of daydreaming
and dreaming of the day. I couldn't even pay attention to the pieces
after I slowly trailed behind. Each wall seemed blurry while she was
oh so clear. Stealing or sucking the everything as if she needed to
become even more indescribable. 

Around
lunch time, my best friend shows up late from a dentist appointment
or something. I would have mentioned him earlier but he wasn’t
around to introduce. Plus, I like talking about her, he is my best
friend but she is my everything. Ralston comes up with his dubious
smile, but sighs with relief because we aren’t at school. We
chit chat about novels that weren’t assigned to us but we
decided to take into our hands to enjoy.

“You
didn’t think the author would simplify such a plot by killing
him, did you?” Ralston stutters. 

I
was in the middle of a reply, “No, not enti-” when I
accidentally made eye contact with her. It wasn’t that it was
bad, but my spine numbed and I drifted away from reality. She’s
a brown eyed murder scene.

 	Let
me rewind eight months, eight endless months to June. I ran into her
unintentionally, and honestly, I didn’t think anything of her…
yet. It was only a matter of time before the spark caught fire and we
talked and talked. Learning about her was the most exciting thing,
like I was a little kid at my first fair. I’d reach in her mind
and find my head cycloning (I’m aware this isn’t a word,
but tornadoing doesn’t make sense but cycloning is geniussssss.
I mean a cyclone is just a tornado in the ocean, the ocean being my
mind and she would just spin freely creating inconsistent, but
intoxicating waves. I don’t know if this was pointless or not
but I tried, anyways.) We shared common interests in artists- whether
it was musicians, authors, painters. In fact, the first time we truly
started talking was when she was going to a concert of one of my
favorite artists, Lana del Rey. Sadly, it was rained out, but it was
a start, everything beautiful needs a start, and this minor,
insignificant event occurring states away marked an unforgettable day
on my life calendar.