Desire is a strong force, and many are taken down before it runs its course. Like a prevailing gale, it sweeps up not only you, but also those you interact with. A blinding power, its destruction isn't apparent until after it has passed. Perhaps that is what makes it so formidable. I'd never felt such strength before 'that day'. Before then, I'd believed so passionately that every small interest was a true desire, only for the magic to die away after he'd been obtained. It was foolish, I see now, to believe that such a petty feeling could be called by such a powerful name. It's not a rare occurrence, though. People have a tendency to over-dramatize things, and I know I certainly fell victim to it back then.
The instant my eyes laid down on him, the winds of desire began to pick up. They speak so often of 'love at first sight' in movies and novels; I was convinced for a long time that was the case. It was only for a minute or so that I held him in my sights, but it was enough to set off the great typhoon. He'd walked past my locker, not even sparing me a glance. Just like that, I was smitten.
What was it that set him apart from everyone else? When he'd walked by, the other students ceased to exist. His hair was a shocking orange, and unevenly placed. The locks of fiery ginger looked as if they were in dire need of a combing. A few spikes of it even fell in front of his face, though they were hardly a distraction. His features were so striking, that nothing could possibly take away from the magnificence of them. A multitude of metal was pierced into his perfect, pale complexion, but even that could not mask the beauty beneath. In fact, it just added to the exotic essence he so effortlessly exuded.
I remember how badly I wanted him to look at me, during that initial encounter. It was impossible not to notice his eyes, for they were definitely an oddity. I'd so often mocked those who had such defects, and yet the thought of doing so didn't even enter my mind as I stared at him. There were orbs within orbs, in a fascinating optic pattern. I fell under his spell immediately, like the entranced victim of a skilled hypnotist.
Clothes can usually tell a lot about a person. Or at least, that's what I used to think. I know now that people use clothes, most of the time, to mask their inner selves. This guy wore an ebony t-shirt, no graphics or wording on it, which exposed his strong-looking arms. His pants were also black, and well-fitting, with a silver-studded belt holding them up. He wore a necklace as well, one I almost never saw him without since that day. It's all so clear in my mind, partly because there was always such little variation in his clothing choices. I remember thinking that day, where's the collared shirt of the preps? The silver chains and dyed hair of the goths? The sports jersey of the jocks? The blatant band advertisement of the punks? Surely this guy must fit in somewhere.
But perhaps the clothes were only an excuse for me. I think it was more the fact that he was so silent, so detached that had me wondering what his place was. Perhaps I even felt sorry for him. To this day, I can't be sure why I fretted over his group placement. All I'm sure of is that he seemed so utterly, utterly alone.
And just like that, he was gone, leaving me with a thousand questionings. Above all, though, one inquiry prevailed, and so desperate was I for the answer.
Who is he?