The moment they'd met, she fell in love. She was 6, he was 7. She'd been dragged along to pick up her older brother from school, complaining and yelling like a broken record player the whole way there. He'd walked into the car, and she went silent. Her dark doe eyes widened as they followed him, watching him sit in the backseat with her brother; if it was possible, she'd of swallowed him with her eyes.

She became fast friends with his little sister, growing up along side him, but always a step behind. When she was 14 and he was 15, they'd kissed. On a dare. "Still a kiss." she told herself. She found a shack with words of 'love' written on them, and wrote her name next to his on the rotting wood wall with his old knife. She thought he was perfect, her other half; she thought he was a man, and in reality he was just a little boy.

And then, she gave up. "Enough's enough, I'm over him- moving on.' - she never was. He was always there, tucked away in the cabinet of her mind. She tried to forget him (a hard thing to do, since he was always aroung0, fooled around with other guys, closing her eyes and imagining that the boy she was with had darker eyes, longer hair, paler skin- imagined they were him.

And that as it. She never got over it. He never knew. Never loved her back. No sudden confessions of love; no one knew. And if no one knew, than it never happened.