everything is music to you

by expressionalism

Everything is music to you. Everything. From the footsteps of a lone student in the hall, to the clicking of a slowly shutting door, to the hushed sighs she makes when she buries her face in your hair and just inhales.

He tells you you're special and you don't believe him. He doesn't say it with the right tone of voice, or maybe it's because you simply don't love hims back in that way, but the fact remains that you don't believe him.

You think of all the other I love you's and you're specials that you've heard and they've been countless. But only one other person has ever said that to you. Her.

(Her, with her hard mask that hides a beautiful fragile face just underneath. Her, with her sharp words that are never directed and never will be directed at you. Her, with her glances at you that she thinks you don't see or notice. Those little looks jam packed to the very brim of the iris with love. Just her.)

She's said it to you many times and she's always had the right tone of voice. You know she means it and you believe her because the fact remains that you love her back and you think that she's special. But the thing you love the most about how she says it is how it almost seems like a melody lost on the wind, whispering past your ear.

(Everything is music to you. Everything. From the footsteps of a lone student in the hall, to the clicking of a slowly shutting door, to the hushed sighs she makes when she buries her face in your hair and just inhales.)

You look at her from across the room and she has those eyes that she uses when she thinks you aren't looking. Only she's using them unabashedly now, and there's a hint of sadness in them, desperation. You can't help but feeling as if you're to blame. Yet even behind the sadness is an even smaller hint of something else entirely. You can only describe is as hope. A wanting. But for what?

It's a silly question, one you know the answer to. You blink once and look at the floor. She doesn't take her eyes off of you. When you look back at her, you're sure your eyes match hers.

(You both stay there for a moment and you can hear a symphony behind her eyes. It's a beautiful melody and there isn't any wind for it to get lost on. The sound deafens you and drowns out everything until you can only hear three words, and they're familiar words. Words you know she means).