No, like those movies I won’t tell you that he was different than most guys, he was similar to the lot of them, he had a pair of eyes, ears, hands, legs, a nose, teeth and totally kissable lips. See, nothing extraordinary!? He was the jerk kind, not “a jerk” but somewhere around that. I wouldn’t turn around for 5 minutes and he had the number of the girl beside him. Player much? He was cute and… hot? I guess, to some extent, depends on whose eyes you’re looking through. 5’8 or maybe 5’9? That’s how tall he was, so…Meh. He couldn’t do the housey stuff, you know? Cook? Do laundry? Clean up his room? In fact I had to fold his jersey for him (just once, I know I’m over obsessing). He had dark brown eyes and wore those nerdy glasses. He played football, loved football in fact. I could hear him talk all day about it but then I guess I could hear him talk about anything all day. His smile could light me up like Christmas lights and a frown? It made my heart drop to my stomach.
He never slept on time, no matter how many times I asked him to. He never took care of himself either so I think my subconscious tried to always take charge. He didn’t care what people did to him, I mean… Mostly. He could mange to get on my last nerve and make me want to drop mountains on his balls but he could also calm me down like it were as easy as waving a wand (believe me, it isn’t that easy). I can never forget the first time he hugged me, I can still feel his embrace following which I went into the car and was over hyper for the next hour and had a perpetual blush all over my face, but let’s not get into that shall we? He was crazy, he was random and did such stupid shit at times, like tie his tie on his head for some deranged reason, he wasn’t a particularly good dancer either but does that matter?
He didn’t focus on studies. Ever. And he was never afraid. To try something new or to stand up and do something. He was fearless and brave and not once did he flinch. He was always so sure about himself and knew himself so well that it amazed me at times and sure he had his insecurities and worries and fears and I know about some too. He wasn’t perfect, not at the very least. He made mistakes just like you and I, he fell but he always got back up, he didn’t have everything he wanted but he was content with what he had. My diary entries about him started on the 19th of November 2013 and ironically it’s 19 November’14 today, so think of this as a tribute. And he’s managed to be in most of the pages of my diary, more like all over them. His favorite player is cristiano ronaldo, as far as I know. His favorite colors are blue and white. He always had this weird, annoying, sly, adorable grin on his face. He’s him. He isn’t perfect nor was, is or will ever be mine.
I’m not sure why I wrote all of this but I guess my point was that “perfect” and “flawless” are such silly little words when you fall in love with someone’s scars, their tears, their quirks, their fears and insecurities. I know this is random stuff about some person you aren’t even sure exists but trust and bear with me this once? This was a description from a high school teenage girl’s opinion on a guy you’ll probably never hear of again.