• I love words. I love to write. the words flow seamlessly into the keyboard and create something. An adventure, a tale, a love story. There is no limit.
    Anything goes.
    And so I sit, once more, at the computer. The white screen stares back at me as if expecting something. During the summer, when there was no school, the words would flow easily. I made dozens of lovely pieces over that time. But now the creativity is almost gone. All I can think to write will never end. There are no short thoughts to jut down.
    There is one thing I could write about. School, of course! I could write about school and everything that happens there. But though it's so fun and many events take place that could entertain someone for hours, no words will come to me.
    But then I see someone. Him. That special person that can make anything happen, it seems. That beautiful person that I dream of every night. And the words come.
    I use words to describe him as I tick away at the keyboard, typing so fast that the black characters on screen seem almost a blur; unimportant. He was perfect, lovely, sweet, and forever. Almost indescribable. The words that come to mind make no sense and yet they fit him well. I continue to write.
    Day after day I see him in class. He talks to me. He smiles. He raises his hand to answer a question. Everything he does goes down onto the white screen that night. He is my story and my inspiration.
    He whispers jokes and leans over to ask a question. I blush and reply but he doesn't catch it. A few more words are added to the once blank page. He compliments my hair and I smile and thank him. More words. More sweet words are added to the page. And so it goes on and on.
    The days pass by quickly now. Time is drawing closer to summer days with no school. No him. No one. Sitting alone all day with nothing to do but type away at the computer. The lovely story gone forever. I couldn't bear to lose it.
    And though it takes its life as a story, it really is a document of his life. If I miss the summertime, it will have holes. It will be half done. And so I must finish before summer.
    He must allow me to finish before summer.
    And so I take my seat beside him in class. The seat I'd taken year round. The seat I'd sit in when I stared at him. Did he ever notice, I wonder? He looks at me and smiles. Greets me as I enter. Class starts and I'm in that sweet paradise as I pretend to be the one he wishes to have at his side.
    And yet the class is a demonic place. A place of hatred and desire. I stare at him every day but each day he seems farther from my reach.
    Until approaches the last day of school. Desperate, I reach out. The story never came to an end. There is no end in sight. I cannot stop now. Not now. So I grab his hand as he leaves the building. Almost the last time I'd ever see him and I say, "I love you."
    He stares blankly at me as if he doesn't know how to reply. He cannot leave but he cannot stay. He must say something fast and so he replies in a quick question.
    "Why?" He asks as if it were hard to understand. As if he couldn't see why himself.
    I felt tears roll down my cheeks as I use the two short and simple words. The saying I'd used to reassure myself. I told him as an answer, "Anything goes."
    He watched me as I recoiled and tapered back; my voice thinning and cracking. He had no response. He didn't know what to do. It's like I was a tiger attacking a bunny out of nowhere. He was the cute bunny and I was the ugly tiger. The ugly, unlovable tiger. And I knew it too. I'd set myself up but the need to end the story, to have him, was too much.
    He surprised me, though, in the end. I thought I was a lost cause. Something that had failed before trying. But trying is winning, as I see now. He put his arms around me and pulled me close. My eyes opened wide and the tears flowed like mad. I imagined the words I'd use to describe the remarkable sensation. It was a vivid, and precious dream, it was.
    He held me for a few seconds then in the almost same broken voice I'd whispered before, he finally had a reply.
    "I love you too," he answered. The words were muffled by his emotions, and mine. Around us, children gathered and awed. I didn't notice them. They weren't here as far as I was concerned. There were only two people here. Me and that special someone that can make anything happen. Him. And so the story came to a close. It had a happy ending. Everyone was content in their lives.
    Summertime again began a spurt of new ideas and so I'd left alone the documents. But every time I see him, every time he visits me, I remember the pages, the many pages filled with him. The pages that would be blank if he wasn't here. The story that could be untold. And I look back at that school year and forever on I know the short, simple statement is true. The easily said, two words that I used as an answer forever on afterward.
    Anything goes.