It’s home, it’s home.

​She.

She’s not someone you see in your dreams or someone you wish goodnight before having a sound sleep.

She’ll not tell you that you look attractive on days when you’ve worn something you thought would attract her, or ‘sexy’ when you shove your hands into your hair. You’ll never have her mutter something like that.

Instead, you’ll witness her face coming close to yours, the mouth slowly reaching the ears, whispering, “you could star in a movie”.
She doesn’t know the tricks, the traps, to make guys fall in love, even if transient.
On a rainy day, when it’s cold and you’re wearing a jacket and she’s not, and you take it off and offer her to cover herself with it, thinking that maybe it would suffice the needs of that moment to be romantic, she’ll do the opposite yet again.
She’ll smile and refuse and tell you how the same thing had happened in a movie, she saw on the TV with her father and how it was embarrassing.
She’ll tell you that you’re funny to do that.
When you’re out of sorts, and you need someone to be present around you, she’ll not ask you to stop cribbing about your problems and to get over your sadness and move on.
Instead, she’ll grab you by your hand, take you to the terrace of her small apartment, lay you down and will say “just close your eyes, I’m coming right beside you to enjoy gazing at the beautiful stars”
You’ll speak, you’ll cry and you’ll break down completely and all she’d do is get you more and more tissues cause she doesn’t think her hands would be able to brush off the drops that descend down your cheeks.
She’s not that hot girl you see walking in the clique and seeing whom, you and your friends go like “oh, damn, those legs”
She doesn’t have that instant heart stopping, breathtaking beauty that is prominent in most girls.
She is not the sweetest girl as she hates people who can smile and nod and hug the people they despise, just to stab them in the back when they turn around.
She’s not the most anything girl in the world.
She’s isn’t. She can’t be. She doesn’t aspire to be.
She’ll walk around the school with her messy hair, on a Monday morning, half asleep and smile and laugh like it’s been forever since she’s been happy.
She’ll turn around trying to figure who she was stared at by.
And one day, maybe just one day, you’ll not be able to draw away your eyes because just how the way her hair flip and her eyes, seem to be filled with curiosity, apparently takes all your breaths inside, tightly held and you sigh.
You sigh, because she is not that person, you thought of in your dreams, or the one sufficing all the qualities of your “traits my girlfriend should have” list.
You stoop, caused by your weighed down head, controlling yourself to not fall into this chaotic unpredictable,wild disorderly thing because you know what you’re upto.
And the day it happens, you’ll find yourself comparing every love after that to hers.
Because from a girl like that, you’re never coming back.