I am sketching her initials on my notebook.
Why do I do that?
Why don't I just put a neon sign on my head that says, "I love you"?
Why doesn't she know?
I ask her out every other day.
I'm almost done the E.
This exam is too long. Why isn't my OWL over yet?
I want to talk to my friends; they will make my stupid brain make sense again.
I don't like it when I get like this.
When I talk like some freak; I forget myself, my normal, cool, sharp-tongued self.
Why hasn't it ended yet?
I am restless.
I want to turn around and look at her.
My mind is wandering to fantasies of her.
But I have to finish my E.
Evans.
NObody but me appreciates the beauty of that name.
Lily. Delicate, but strong. Kind, but hot tempered. Perfect, yet imperfect.
Why does she make me spew out poetry?
I didn't ask to fall in love.
Life was so much easier before I met Lily Evans.
But so much emptier, too.
We are dismissed.
Regretfully, I cross out the letters.