there's this girl, her name is felicia,
and she is not afraid to love with all she might,
to fall over and over again,
to get hurt and to be misunderstood,
to be pushed away by the circumstances she is not aware.
i tell her she is stupid, wasting her time, and that she deserves better;
but still the only time she cries is because he cries.
there's this guy, his name is derio,
tells me he knows nothing about love, or how to win a girl heart,
but i witness him giving his drink to her,
pats her back after their group presentation,
shows me what he writes and how i notice he engraves
every single thing about her in words,
how he makes a playlist contains songs about her
and how she makes him feel.
there's this girl, her name is nadya,
her love is the love that is so pure and innocent,
that even when he is miles away she tells me she senses his presence.
she draws him paintings, consist of pastel colors, and i ask her why;
she says it brings calmness to every storm.
i will look up at her history chat, being a protective friend that i am;
and i notice how fast she responds,
showering him with the attention he never have.
there's this guy, his name is andre,
and the way he talks about her, i assure you,
even the star constellations will envy the spark in his eyes.
his wallpaper is green, and i joke a lot about it;
how it shows that he is a capitalist, how it looks like he just puke on it,
but he shrugs it all off; tells me it is her favorite color.
there's this girl, her name is clara,
never going anywhere without a book in her hand,
sometimes she will surprise me with midnight chats
contains her crying over a fictional character and how unfair the ending is,
she has this web-page where she writes the unsent letters
to every character she is in love with.
she has a personal blog where she makes each of them
another story, another ending.
there's this guy, his name is elliot,
a head division of an event i am contributed in,
and between the meetings that goes almost overnight,
he insists to walk her to the train station even if she never ask to.
he tells me it is not because he think she is weak and can't protect herself,
he says it is because she is precious.
and then there is me;
a witness,
a learner,
a note-taker,
of all kind of love they show,
of all kind of love they grow,
for sometimes it is easy to love
but hard to remember
how beautiful and endearing it is.