My first time truly writing in the morning. Took a big sip of water and poured myself a bowl of cereal. Now I am sitting in front of my computer typing while eating. Very nice music in the background. Kyoko's Break by Ljones. I recently just found out about the song because of Carlo Bumatay. A good find.

Lately I have been talking about Melanie a lot. Maybe a bit too much. I am not sure. She is an amazing woman, but I feel as if I speak of her too much even though I do not know her a lot. I am afraid the wind may carry my words to her. What if she finds out? I think she already has the idea that I like her, so I guess it is not that bad. I just looked at a couple of pictures of her last night. She looks so good when she is smiling. She looks good when she is not smiling, too. I do not think the colour black fits Melanie. Brighter colours such as red, yellow or blue probably looks much better on her. I got that idea from when she wore her black dress with various colours splattered on it. She looked good in it, but the colour just did not fit. She dresses much better than me anyway, so I do not think I can say much about it.

I woke up numerous times while sleeping. Every time I went back to sleep I thought about her. A little flame of hope in my heart stayed lit as I continued my slumber. I was hoping that she would walk into my dream in the most lovely way. A smile graced upon her astonishing face. Her hair let down like the dark sky which falls during the night, bringing with it the glimmering stars. And most of all the happiness she radiates and spreads like the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread as it diffuses through the air of a village.

I still remember one dream about her many nights ago. It was night, but it was not late into it. We walked through the school's parking lot with many of our other friends. I looked at her and began to talk. I smiled widely. If I smiled any bigger than that my grin would have threatened to split my head in half. She too began to speak. A smile was apparent on her face. It seemed like no one else was there. I was in my own world. I wonder in the back of my head if she was, too. Those moments were precious even if they were not real. It is moments like those that I can hold her close in my heart. It is moments like those that I can marvel at her personality. It is moments like those that I can bathe in her beauty. We continued to walk and reached the front of the school. Our walk slowed greatly, but we still spoke with each other. I took her hand and looked at the palm. I could not help but become fascinated by her palm. I traced her hand with my finger. She took my hands in hers and traced my hands with her soothing fingers also. I looked at her with my soft eyes and vulnerable heart. I ponder whether or not she knows what she does to me.

I like her, but I will not say I love her. Love is such a powerful word and I am afraid to say it. I am attracted to her, but I am not so about love. I will just have to continue sailing and discover if I do and whether or not she will return these feelings. As I type this I can feel my chest falling apart. Feelings begin to trickle and leak from my heart. I feel that she may turn her head away if I reveal too much of my attraction to her. Just like when I began going to her group during lunch, she may become suspicious. She may begin pushing me away.

I recalled the moment she whispered and the words slipped passed her lips. My hands rested gently on her hips. Her arms circled around my neck. She looked magnificent. Her existence glowed with impeccable beauty. She averted her gaze ready to say something.
"I need to tell you something."
"Yes?"
Her eyes reverted back to my own. As she placed her head on my shoulder/chest I could feel her quiver slightly. Her arms unwrapped themselves around my neck and snaked around my body. My heart sunk and a sick feeling became stuck within my chest. What was she going to say? I could feel her breath tickling the skin of my neck. I tilted my head downwards, placing my head slightly above hers. My arms encircled her waist.
"I. . ." Her words hung dead in the air. I waited for her to finish her sentence.
"I cannot love you," her words stung my emotions and heart, "I just do not have the heart." I took a deep breath and took in her scent. I could feel tears threatening to fall. I felt one roll down the left side of my cheek. She still shook. Her arms still wrapped around my body.
"I love you," I gently replied. It was not a confession. I pulled her closer. This would be the last and only moment I would be able to hold her like this. She kept her arms around me. She did not say a word.

Melanocyte