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Watching

By Kati Frazier

There is a girl in my homeroom. My god she is beautiful. Her face. Her skin. Her body. The confidence she carries with herself. She knows she is beautiful; exotic. Hell, the girl wears a necklace which says 'sexy', not that I can blame her. If I had that body, I would be proud of it too.

If I had that body . . . .

I have gotten into the habit of watching her. The way her entire face, her expression changes as she walks in the door. Almost as if she is a bit afraid of being in here. She doesn't seem to have any friends in homeorom, which doesnt make sense because you can tell by looking at her she is the kind of person who would have quite a few friends.

I've been watching her

When she can't see me. She may be doing her homework or just looking in another direction and I watch her. The way she looks, the way she moves, as if all of it is so deliberate, planned, choreographed to the last detail.

Then I feel guilty for looking at her, for taking in the sight of her, because deep down I know I shouldn't, as if it is so wrong.

I keep running through my mind lustful thoughts, wondering if she is a lesbian, or bi. It's silly really, what are the chances? And even then I can tell she wouldn't get along with me.

But I dont care.

Because I can still watch her.

Like a movie or a picture in the magazine. Something so beautiful, so different and unnapreciated by everyone else.

I've been watching her.

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