I remember her.
The girl who always drew beautiful portraits of life.
so colorful and full of life.
in an empty art room in the quiet corridor.

we were in junior high.
I had friends of my own and
a perfect academics scores.
in sports I always win the final goal.
am humble and kind.
am a son who made his parents proud.

I know about me.
I know the things in my textbooks.
I know the people in my school.
teachers, students, friends. you name it.
but her.
she is someone I never knew about.

seasons changed. she stayed the same.
every time I walk by The hallway.
I peek into the room.
her back facing the door.
her hand painting poetry in the canvas.
I couldn't see the full piece. but I could she's crafting a masterpiece.

I developed a bad habit.
during every recess.
I take the long path to my classroom.
to walk by The old abandoned artroom.
I stand still and stare at her short hair.
always wondering what's running in her tiny head.
I wonder what her eyes would look.
I wish I could see things through them.

I am guilty of stalking an artist.
but I couldn't help it.
I don't want to be a creep. So,
one rainy day I gathered my courage.
and wrote her a letter.
mentioning my name and class. at the top.
describing my admiration towards her art with my sloppy writing skills.
guess I am not an all rounder after all.
in the end I signed.
I carefully folded the paper into two.

and continue to the habit of mine.
this time I gonna communicate.
the courage I gathered isn't enough...