My heart is pounding. Breathing shouldn't be this reckless. Yet its his blue eyes that shamelessly does this to my being, my heart and soul. Sometimes when he looks towards me, I feel like his eyes are telling me that he loves me. Like a red rose.
But that's absolutely wrong. He doesn't know how I feel. I want him to know, yet I don't.
You love him don't you?
I can't love him. I can't. You don't understand…
However, it doesn't stop me from imagining my future. A different universe. Where he would whisper how he loves me. How he wants me. To ravish me endlessly. To only make me want him and only him...It wouldn't matter because its true I only want him. In the end we would watch the stars, listen to the wind, stay up all night until we see the sun. Holding hands. Breath. Exhale.
"J'aime vous mon chéri" Francis would tell me, looking into my emerald eyes. In my dreams I would blush madly. But smile sweetly. I grew up with no such sweet words.
In my non-fantasy world my love doesn't love me. Like a bird, he is free-and wild. Francis plays the game. Get "lucky". The girls and boys all love him. They basically throw themselves at him. Especially Alfred. The American has a thing for the Frenchman…And so do I.
No matter how much I want the Francis to myself, to make my dreams a reality. I cannot have him. That would be selfish of me. Selfish of me to be happy to have my fictional Francis to hold me in his arms. Alfred is my best friend. I couldn't do that to him. This is why reality is cruel. We both want the same things, and I personally don't want to start any drama with him. Why wreck something so special? Something that has been built over the years.
So my answer to my problem is simple. Ignore my feelings and live my life with just "being friends" with Francis. Fight. Argue. Shout. Scream. Snap insults towards each other while grinning secretly. Being prideful. Throwing punches, kicks and objects at each other. Having bruises all over our bodies. Arms even legs would be broken by the end of it.
I would have thought by now, with all the hate comebacks we throw at each other, my feelings for the Frenchman would have vanished. Desire burned. Oh, but no. I fell more in love with him.
"I hate you! You stupid frog!"
Francis would only laugh.
"Ah, you are so cruel Arthur! You are after all my favourite Englishman, non?" He would pout annoyingly. I would grin. If only I didn't feel this way. We could just be friends...or be enemies.
Stomping away I could see Alfred walking pass me, probably to talk to the Frenchman about some new American fashion. About going to eat out for lunch. To go shopping...Anything that doesn't involve me. When I reached my car I began to cry.
If only I didn't feel this way...
"As long as Alfred or Francis doesn't know how I feel...As long as I stay out of their way, they'll get to together, and live happily ever after. Like in the fairy tales." I put on a weak smile upon my face.
Why am I still crying?
Starting up the car, I drive away.