Dark lashes shaded the deep green eyes the he lusted after.

His hunger for her grew stronger the longer he looked at her.

Her pencil scratching against the paper,

and his ears picking up the faint sound of it.

He loved watching her bend over her paper,

her wisps of black hair falling into her face

He had never felt like this before,

his body ached for hers, and the enormity of it was overwhelming.

His hands would shake when he got close,

his chest would ache when he looked at her.

It was intoxicating, her aroma that is.

She smelled like like a fruity flower, delicate and beautiful.

So unlike her character, at least the one she pretended to be.

He would never confess his feelings about her,

he would be ridiculed about it if he ever did.

A stupid lie would keep him away.

He remembered her before, all of this

back in junior high when she was a queen bee

before the drama and the pain.

He imagined that she would look great,

a great body, if she would show it off.

She hides underneath a cloak of darkness

too afraid to be hurt again.

And this is what he is reduced to, a stalker-like love

watching from afar, too afraid to make a move

too afraid to disturb the serenity and beauty she beholds;

yet he longs for the touch of her skin beneath his fingertips,

her lips on his neck, kissing ever so softly, like her lips themselves

and he longed to hear a moan of ecstasy from her at his touch.

So he waits watching from the corners of his eyes,

in the corner, from across the room,

the stranger in the mall, the ghost of the past,

the only one who really loves her for the way she is,

no matter what that may be.