She was beautiful, yet she didn’t know it.

She never wore skirts, or anything like that. Usually she was clad in trousers or jeans with either a short sleeved fitted blouse or plain tee shirts, and trendy yet casual jackets.

She never straightened or curled her hair every morning, or applied make up before she came to school.

She had a beautiful smile, and a beautiful laugh.

She was smart, and had few close friends, but strangely she was content with that.

She was a perfectionist and hated to be a newbie at anything. That was why she spent so many hours studying or making notes, or even practising in the studio.

She loved to sing, and write songs, get her emotions out. She was a good singer and songwriter, but nobody would ever know. Only he had heard her, but she wasn’t to know that. It was an accident really, but he had never told anybody about it, just laid awake at nights, thinking of an excuse to talk to her, maybe bring it up. But then he’d chicken out or decide she’d think him a stalker. She hated guys who followed girls around incessantly.

She flicked her hair over her shoulder unconsciously whenever she laughed. Her eyes would twinkle whenever she laughed. When she was upset her eyes would flicker away onto objects, never resting her gaze onto something for more than five seconds. Whenever she was concerned about somebody or something, her kind eyes would stare intently into whoever was speaking.

She was creative, and loved colour. She would decorate notebooks and personal possessions with different coloured pens, pens only she seemed to have, pens only she seemed to be able to get, nobody knew where from.

She loved to be organized. Whenever she walked into a room she would take out her planning notebook and her pencil case and the colourful pens she always carried around, laying them on the desk in their special case, arranged in colour order.

She loved animals, but didn’t have one of her own. Her parents would never let her.

She loved her parents, although they were strict. She followed the rules they set her, and was always home in time for curfew.

She was an only child, but she never seemed lonely.

She hated ‘following the crowd’. She thought it was uncreative, unoriginal and uninspired. She hated those things.

She believed in true love, and was a true romantic at heart.

She was his perfect girl.

But she wasn’t his.

She had a boyfriend, a guy who would make somebody wish they were never born if they even looked at her in anything other than a pleasant manner.

She believed her boyfriend was the ‘one’.

She was something he could never have.

I've had this on my computer for ages, but I've just decided to post it. I thought it up when I was bored one lesson in school.

Read and review! :)