One minute you're sitting on your bench among dozens of its like, among thousands of your like. Yet there's only one you really like, among these thousands of millions, and she isn't looking your way. Her strangely sculpted features and awkward stance, greasy hair clinging over hunched shoulders, does not a physically-pleasing picture make.

But that look in her eyes when her eyes do meet yours is beautiful in the most terrible way and terrible in the most beautiful fashion. Can one glow when the sky is already glowing about them? Can one's warmth rival the sky? You ponder these questions, but, not for long, as your hands tangle in her hair and your lips descend onto hers. You wonder how space can deplete so quickly, if you could even hear yourself think with that pounding in your chest.

There were words once, and, before that, you could never be certain. There were words to describe your utter elation in this moment, but they never came and you could never be certain they will.

But then you open your eyes. Across the way you sat, your gaze locked on the loving couple you were part of but a moment ago. You watch neutrally as thousands of peers pass your way, heart shattered like a thousand glass vases full of flowers never to be delivered. And not one of them meets your gaze, or even your figure in the distance. So then you close your eyes, in hopes to pretend some more.