Less than a year ago, I never knew something like this existed. I never knew that something so immensely great to talk to, so extremely fun to be around, so.so awe-inspiring could be alive somewhere besides my dreams. And a male no less; an aspect of life I had long given up on.

He is almost as fun to look at as to be around. His chocolate eyes always twinkling full of good humor make me laugh with him. His brown hair always reflecting light makes me want to run my fingers through it. His teeth straighter that a straight-edge line and whiter than the dazzling white of the sun. His skin creamy and smooth, not a blemish unless you counted a small mole on the back of his neck *which I think makes him all the more special*.

He plays the drums. Well, he does more than play them. I play drums too but it's nothing like him. It's like the beat flows out of some waterfall of musical talent in his mind and washes out of his hands like streams. When he plays, I always listen, whether I act like it or not. He's a natural- born drummer with more talent than any of us knew what to do with when he showed up. Playing seems to be his life, and I admire him more than anything for it.

He sings in the choir, too. He's a tenor, and his voice is great, singing or not. I was in choir for the mere aspect of being in an extra class with him for nine weeks, but the damn teacher was too much to put up with. So now, I look back on pictures wishing I had stayed, wishing for another chance to talk to 'that drummer boy'.

I try to make conversation with him at any chance I get. When he gets close to me, I tremble. When he whispers to me in Band, I grin wildly on the inside. When he touches me, my senses explode trying to absorb the moment. Other girls are after this wonder-boys attention as well. Many much better looking than me and are easier to 'get some' from. So, I wait for my chance. Waiting in a silent rant; wanting so badly to be his but fearing more than anything to have my heart broken again.I never want a broken heart again.

Many more boys come my way, flirting and chatting away with me. Never do I pretend to be interested in anything more than friendship. My heart aches when he flirts with others. I want him to love me as much as I love him, to have him return the feeling. But no, I am only his friend. Nothing more and hopefully nothing less.

His name is Hank Williams. I dare not change his name for the significance every little thing about him factors in to my life, nor do I dare speak of said significance. The shock would send many spiraling into fits of uncontrollable laughter.

When he looks me in the eyes, I fidget and make up excuses about not liking people staring at me. When his lips move, I look at them, longingly, wanting one kiss. When his hand brushes mine, my heart explodes into a million tiny pieces. I try to fit them back together, try not to like him, but I long for his touch, his lips upon mine. Nothing shall ever change that. I'll stow this paper in my room. Hopefully no one shall find it there.

.this is only the beginning of a never-ending love.