He had intense eyes. They were emerald green and I remember myself capture them for the first time nearly four years ago; it was the first day at my new school, it was August and a fine summer day; the sun was shining through the big, white windows into the auditorium. Chairs made of dark wood and a light brown stage; I remember that I picked one of the chairs in front of the stage and I remember myself being nervous.

I was a very receptive girl and therefore I wanted to catch every single word the headmaster formed with his lips. People were talking; they were laughing and it felt as though I was the only one who didn't have someone to talk to, but it was okay. I was going to touch new souls later on. This was a new start, I thought, and with a little grin on my lips I hardened the grip on my pen. So the headmaster went on the stage and with his eyes following each and every move made from the students, he cleared his voice and the audience went silent. He gave us a smile of welcome and his deep voice was echoing in the big room. He told us about the subjects, what we were going to do later on, what they expected from us, the new students - and with each sentence I remember my heart pounding faster; the excitement was taking over.

Several light words and minutes later, I heard a girl's voice behind me. She was asking about something and I remember myself looking over my shoulder just to see who she was; but my eyes lingered on a boy with black hair and twinkling, green eyes. He looked at me and gave me a contagious smile; and this is where my story begins, with green eyes that sparkle and a pure smile like sunshine through a raindrop.

I will let you borrow my words for a moment, but please don’t steal them – they’re a part of me. It will take too much time to write the words of my heart when it skipped a beat. It will take too much time to count the butterflies that lived inside of me. But I will try.

He had a natural grin that was so simple, but it affected me; he made me smirk just by doing so himself. You know how it is, don’t you? When a person makes you happy depending on how he or she feels? His face, which was always full of deepest comfort, with the same pale color as his skin; his twisted lips and crooked smile; his high cheekbones; his thin body covered with black shirts and stone washed, dark blue jeans.

His appearance was like lightning; and he shot right through me.

It took weeks until I finally exchanged words with this boy and that was then I fell head-over-heels in love with him; he was wonderful, an amazing guy with so much to give to the world. He was playing in a band, expressing himself with music in all sorts of ways. Our conversations were simple; small, light words, nervous smiles, me playing with my hair, he with his hands on his knees. The days passed, like weeks, like months. I became attached to him; I showed my heart through my careful chosen words for one year.

Our second year began. The black hair had now changed into brown during the summer; it was cascading around his face. The broad shoulders were, as always, covered in black. The form-fitting legs in the darkest shade of blue. A smile playing across his face when he talked to his friends and I remember how my heart flattered when I caught his eyes. I wasn’t aware of the ten months that were lying in front of me would change how I felt about love. I wasn’t aware that my heart was going to be shattered in pieces, over and over again. If I knew, I would not make the wrong choices I took, and I would tell my little heart to not care.

It was like forgetting the words; I couldn’t form the right sentences with my red lips when he looked at me and asked me a question a week later on. I just shook my head, turned my back and walked over to my friends. Hands shaking, head pounding. You know the feeling you get when you talk with the person that makes your whole world stop spinning and you are not able to say anything that makes sense? It was like that throughout the year.

If I could, dear LTC, I would tell you exactly how I felt when he sat beside me on the benches made of light yellow wood. I would choose the perfect words and tell you my feelings I had in the very best way; but I’m afraid I can’t. It’s too hard. All I can say is that the beauty he owned made me gasp every time he passed me in the hallways; his gaze that carefully studied me every single time I pressed a smile on my face; his emerald green eyes full of happiness and delight when I told him something funny.

I guess he did know me in a way that no one else did; he took his time to notice those small, small things I always did when I was feeling nervous, embarrassed. Or those things I said when my heart was exploding of all the happy feelings or when my tears were streaming down my face and I couldn’t find a way to express my feelings. When he searched my eyes, he saw more than a hazel color and black pupils. He saw me.

And I guess that the way he treated me made me fall for him even more, if possible. He held my hands, and sometimes he slipped a comment about how small my fingers were. His hands on my waist and his lips searching after my ears to whisper that I was beautiful and amazing and lovely and everything beyond that. I loved the way he took care of me, as if I was something fragile that would break under his fingertips if he pressed too hard. And I guess I was. I guess I was fragile.

But sometimes, things turn out to be wrong and bad and not that lovely as you once saw them to be. This boy that held my heart in his hands broke it, he didn’t take care of it; and I regret giving it to him. He left me alone and shattered and he damaged my soul when he pressed his lips together and didn’t let a single word come out to express why he had left me.

One year. One year I was lost and alone, and my world was cold and nothing really worked. It’s funny, isn’t it? How people can make you feel? How people affect you? It’s strange and scary and, sometimes, you really don’t know what to do or what to say. You just sit there in your heartache, waiting for that person to come back. And I did. Yet I was so naïve that I closed my eyes and shut my ears when my friends told me that he had treated me wrong; yet I was so naïve to think that it was all my fault. He had left me without an explanation and I sat there crying in my room an autumn day and I felt so worthless because he had chosen to not care about me anymore. That year I decided not to let someone close enough to hurt me. I was in pieces and every bit of me lay on the floor and I couldn’t reach them. They were sharp, like glass, and every time I tried to catch them in my hands I remembered all those things I had done wrong and I fell back into emptiness.

One year later I’m now standing here, watching that period flash in front of my eyes and I understand now; I didn’t do anything wrong because I’m great and utterly amazing just the way I am. I cared more about what he had done to me than listen to the people telling me how great I was and how very grateful they were to have me in their lives. It’s not a crime, loving yourself, you know? And I reckon that more people should to it. Smile, be happy, take photographs, dance, listen to music, be with your friends, capture the moments, have fun and don’t forget to live. Because you’re so, so, so indescribable wonderful and you should never let anyone break you. Because you’re strong, and a human being with a soul and a heart and with feelings and nerves. 

— J