She did what she knew best:
Draw-
She drew him as accurately as she could,
Careful about every stroke
And curve-
All the lines and shades
Just to create an imitation of him-
Of him whose presence,
Even the mere mention of his name,
Could make her heart skip a beat.
She drew with stealth and passion,
From afar, taking glances
As though she didn't know-
As though she didn't already know
That his headphones hung around his neck,
That he always wore his black striped jacket,
That he had his Hamlet book open,
Reading it while partaking of his meal.
Upon the completion of her masterpiece,
She gazed at it with admiration,
And wrote his initials on top of the sheet-
And thinking maybe, just maybe-
If one day she had the courage,
He would be able to see it with his own eyes-
A portrait of him-
And maybe then,
He would know-
It was a confession.