• His arm brushing her skin in order to rest along her shoulders has my heart doing double time, my eyes burninf at the sight. Or maybe this is because of the unshed tears glazing over, everything before me blurring into incomprehensible shapes and colors. Is that his hand drifting closer to what I firmly believe is her? Or is my mind playing tricks, just as my fingers are trying to loosen around the book resting in my fingers? This pain is foreign to me. Why did he, of all people, have to be the one to bring about its discovery? I don't think I will be able to control my rowdy emotions at this point. My feet are pressing tight into the ground through my overpriced skater shoes, my hand is already reaching down to grip the strap of my backpack. I need to get out of here. I can't let him see me like this, he'll never understand. How can he, when I can't even grasp what is happening to me?