Looking At You
Looking at you, I try to take in the whole miracle, the miracle that is you.
The way you sit, the way your hands hold that book.
Your hands are strong, so unlike most gilrs thin, weak hands.
I can see your huge honey-brown eyes fixed on the page, one moment widening in shock, the next already slighlty crinkling in silent laughter.
Involuntarily I ask myself what it could be you are laughing about, what thing so humorous that book could possibly reveal to you to cause such a beautiful motion on your face.
Your hair falls down your shoulders lightly, framing your face in its dark locks, giving you an eerily angelic look. Maybe that is why I look at you this way, because you seem to be so special, so perfect, so out of this world... but I know there is even more to you than just your physical appearance. I wouldn't be so superficial to obsess over someone this much just because they look good.
It's your beautiful personality that actually attracts me. You are so defined by your kindness, your braveness and your strength and Merlin, your brilliance. Not a day passes that I'm not impressed by you, being the miracle, my miracle.
Sometimes I allow myself to daydream, to fatansize about what could happen if I just talked to you. I could simply walk over to you, lightly touching your shoulder so you would lift your head from the draw of the pages. I can feel your intense gaze on me, but in my imaginations it doesn't make me nervous. Instead I am cool, charismatic. I would charm you with my ability to make sophisticated conversation, we would talk about school maybe,or books. You would notice how interesting I actually am and how you never really spent a second thought on me except for sharing in Potter's little "We hate Malfoy" campaigns. And so we would become more familiar until suddenly I lean forward slightly, brushing one of your curls out of your face. You stare up at me, eyes unblinking, captured in the magic of the moment. Then I would brush my lips against yours, softly, like a summer breeze, the fluttering of a butterfly's wing. Deepening our kiss, your hand would reach up, coming to rest at the base of my neck while mine travels dow to the small of your back and – okay. Enough.
Sometimes the vividness of my daydreams creeps me out, but normally I just try to enjoy them until I make myself regain control.
I can't be with you. People would talk, and apart from that, why would you ever even talk to me? You are the very epithome of light, the gryffindor princess, everyone's darling, and so perfect. Though you can be a hard, cold wall when it comes to getting what you want, I can always see your light shining through. You bounce through the days, illuminating everything with your brilliant shine.
I, on the other hand, am just dark. Blank, dull darkness. Funny how the color of our hair is the exact reverse of what we actually are, you with your dark hair, emitting light to everyone around you, and me with my platinum-blonde mob, literally breathing darkness. I don't want to diffuse your shine. What if you would actually give me a bit of attention, talk to me, even become familiar with me? I know my darkness would draw you in, would at first attract, and then consume you. I could never forgive me for doing that to you.
So I will stay at a safe distance, watching you and letting you light up my day at least a little bit, without darkening yours. The risk is just too high. I myself can hardly live with me, why should I make you carry that burden too? Sometimes I guess it would be nice to have someone with me to share the pain, but I just can't do that to you. I will stay away, controlled, not allowing myself more than a little daydreaming once in a while.
Sighing, I draw out of my thoughts, focusing once again on you for just a second, and then stand up, leaving behind my miracle – for today.