I remember writing this story once, about a boy.
It was a sunny, cold day. We have those in Pietermaritzburg.
Other than the peace sign in my margin, a blank page stared back at me. How often had I been here before? An empty mind and nothing to write down.. I closed my eyes and suddenly, there he was. A vivid picture filled with sharp colours and lines, he wasn't in love with me, he didn't know my name. Seeing him was like the first time I heard the music from a jewellery box - quietly mesmorizing and once, I'd heard it, I couldn't forget it. Once I had the picture, it consumed everything I wrote and sometimes, when I was lost in something, it would be pulled up out of the files and played across my memory.
I traced the line of his face with my words. When his eyes were closed, his face was peaceful and still, betraying none of the chaos that was inside. When he smiled, it felt directed at me. I filled pages with the colour of his hair in the sunlight, the way he smelt of fresh laundry and something else that I could never quite catch - it reminded me of vanilla but not so strong and of spring but not so sweet. The picture didn't fade like others did. It changed slightly as I grew up but it was always there.
Today, in the bus on my way home, I leaned against the window and closed my eyes. For that moment when you are suspended in between being awake and asleep - I saw it again. The picture was just as vivid, but he was just a boy now. Just a random picture, I didn't feel anything when I saw it. I couldn't remember the music anymore. I opened my eyes and sat up.
I don't remember when it happened. I don't remember the moment when you became more beautiful than any dream I could imagine. Now I wish I could write a story about a boy like you and just come close to describing you.
(I love you*)