Chapter 47
Is it hopeless?
Handsome.
Tender.
Soft.
Why do you look right through me
thinking
'No'?
I can't deny my feelings
growing
strong.
I try to keep believing,
dreaming
on.
And every time I see you
I crave
more.
I wanna pull you closer
closer
closer
closer,
but you leave me feeling frozen.
I can be
all you need.
Won't you please
stay with me?
Apologies, might-have-beens.
Can't erase what I feel.
Choking
back
emotion.
I try to keep on hoping
for a
way.
A reason for us both to
come in
close.
I long for you to hold me
like I
dream you would.
And since my dream is growing
ever
stronger,
I wanna be the object
object
object
object
of your passion.
But is it hopeless?
"What are you writing?"
Helga nearly fell out of the tree.
"Stop doing that!"
"Sorry. But what are you writing?"
She slammed the book shut. "None of your business!"
"Could I guess?"
"No."
"Is it homework?"
"What homework could that possibly be?"
"You're right. Um…is it a drawing?"
"No."
"Story?"
"No."
"Oh, I know what it is! It's poetry! You told me you wrote poetry before, remember?"
Helga was speechless.
"Ha! It is poetry, isn't it?"
"O-okay, yeah, so what if I write poetry? You got a problem with that?"
"No. I think it's kind of cool."
"Oh…"
"Could I read it?"
"NO! NEVER!"
"Why not?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"Sure I would."
"No, you wouldn't. You'd probably just laugh."
"Try me."
For a second Helga half considered letting him, but she quickly changed her mind.
"No! You can't read it!"
"Please?"
"No!"
"Fine."
Helga looked away, embarrassed that they were arguing about her poetry of all things.
"I wish I could show you my poetry," she thought, "and I wish you could understand the depth of it. Not as just a 'hobby' but as a desperate attempt to express my obsessive passion for you, even if it is only to myself. Oh, Arnold, my love, if only I could come out and say how madly in love I am with you, and if only you felt the same way! If only I would stop hiding the real me; hiding the truth. If only I could somehow obtain the courage to right now just reach over and grab you and kiss you and-"
She had half a mind to do just that, until Arnold suddenly reached over and grabbed her poetry book.
"Don't you dare!" she screamed, but he had already started reading the poem she had just written. She was going to snatch the book back, but for some reason she didn't. Perhaps today was the day. Perhaps today he would finally know.
Helga watched him with anticipation until he stopped reading.
"That's really good. Who'd you write it for?"
This wasn't the kind of response she had been expecting.
"Huh?"
"Who was the poem written for?"
"What do you mean?" she asked, obviously confused. Didn't he know it was about him?
"Which boy? Is he in our class?"
"Criminy! I didn't put his name in that poem, did I?" she thought with a mixture of relief and disappointment. "No matter. I'll just play dumb. He won't find out."
"Uh, it's no one," she lied. "I just thought it up."
"Yeah, right. It must have been about someone. It was too…deep for it to be about no one."
"Well, it wasn't about anyone, got it? I'd never like a boy. That's disgusting!"
Helga having a crush on someone was a little strange, he'd admit it, but he had proof that she did. She had told him.