She Was Never His
She looked amazing that night.
Then again, she looked amazing every night.
But that night, the moon could have stopped shining and he wouldn’t have noticed. She was his light, always had been. She’d worn a dress that night, and he even noticed the slightest touch of makeup. He didn’t understand why she felt the need to hide herself under a layer of paint, she was already perfect.
If she was his, he would tell her that every day.
He would look her in the eye and tell her how utterly astonishing she was, and he wouldn’t let her look away until she realized it too.
But she wasn’t his.
He watched her dancing that night, with a smile plastered upon her face. She twirled around the room, laughing and mesmerizing every man in the building. But he was mesmerized by her every single hour of every single day.
He tried to forget her many times, ever since he realized that he was in love her during his second year.
But no matter how hard he tried, suddenly she wasn’t just the know-it-all who beat him in every class, she was the girl he dreamed about at night. And that was all he could do, dream. She never once glanced his way, she never even talked to him outside of class if she wasn’t defending that foolish friend of hers, Potter.
And then there was the redhead brat. The boy who he would forever be jealous of, no matter how much money or success he had. Because in the end, he knew it was him she would go home to every night, him she would have beautiful and intelligent children with. They would grow old together, and he would die without having ever loved anyone as much as he’d loved her.
He would get married, have children of his own, and he would soar through life holding on to those memories of her, the love of his life.
And he would take his love for her to his grave.
He would make them carve it in stone to remind him even in the afterlife.
He would remember.
She was never his.
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