I've been sitting next to you for four weeks. Four weeks of sneaking glances at you when you were looking away (and averting my eyes when you looked back), seeing which band your shirt broadcasted today, and whether or not the jeans you were wearing were made for girls. Four weeks of the most I'd say to you being "Thank you" when you held the door open for me on the way out of the classroom, or "Sorry" when I bumped into you 'accidentally.'

You're the shiest creature I've ever come into fragile contact with, and yet, you are the most intimidating. I'm the most intimidating, and you make me the shiest.

And you don't even know. (No, I refuse to allow you to know.)

I really want to tell you that you're the most amazing being in our dimension, and that you don't even know it.

But right now, I'm content with familiarizing myself with your subtly expressive countenance, and saying "Thank you" for a whole lot more than you'll ever know.