I love watching her perform. The way she owns the stage, how
her eyes glimmer as the crowd sings along with her, the way she smiles as she
waves to a fan. I couldn’t tear my gaze from her, her beauty drew the attention
of everyone in the room, her kind heart and smile warming those around her and
easing their mind.
She skipped from one side of the stage to the other with a
childlike glee, her face beaming as she approached the new section of the crowd,
jumping and waving to them all as they screamed at her arrival. Her angelic
voice was nothing more than background noise as I gazed at her, perched on the
edge of my seat, elbows rested on my knees and chin sitting in my palms. She was
playing a small charity concert, a concert she had offered to play with no
request of payment, simply desperate to help those less fortunate than herself
in any way possible.
Her kindness is perhaps what I admire most, her ability to
stay polite and humble despite facing the daily challenges thrown at her, like
the paparazzi, the press writing untrue stories in an effort to sell a copy of
their magazine, the rude fans who feel like she owes them the world. My girl is
strong, and brave, a true glimmer of light in an otherwise grey world.
Her first song came to an end, she beamed and laughed as the
crowd chanted her name. She told them how happy she is to be there, how
honoured she feels to be helping such a worthy cause, and how overwhelming it
is to receive such a positive reaction to her performance. Her voice was soft
and gentle, she took quick, short breaths as she recovered from her exuberant
performance, and a single bead of sweat was visible in her hairline underneath
the bright lights. There was a loud clatter from behind me, but I made no move
to turn around.
Y/N had begun her second song, a light, upbeat number that
was quick to emphasise her talent. Once again, apparently unfazed by her
previous performance, she made her way back and forth across the stage with
such energy and enthusiasm, it was difficult not to feel uplifted by her routine.
I clasped my hands and shifted them so that they were positioned in front of my
mouth in a subtle attempt to hide my proud, adoring smile. I am so in love. A painful,
overpowering love that can leave me incapacitated at the most sudden, and
perhaps inappropriate times, like at work, on the bus, in the shower, in bed,
she consumes most of my daily thoughts. Do I regret it, you ask? Do I regret
dedicating much of my time to someone I care about so deeply, someone who has
shown me that even in the toughest of times it is possible to remain positive, and
someone who I have never met? No, I don’t regret it.
My girl had just turned to face the camera, firing a breath-taking
smile in my direction when the screen went black, her beautiful face wiped from
before me with the press of a button. I turned and fired Gemma a murderous
glare as she smiled smugly, TV remote in hand.
“What are you doing?” I hissed, suddenly furious at her for interrupting
“Oh, I’m sorry, were you watching that?” she replied with
wide, innocent eyes as she mocked me.
“Yes, now put it back on” I demanded, my heart racing at the
thought of me missing much more of her performance. It was so rare to see my
girl on a TV broadcasted show that I had ditched all my plans for tonight just
to watch her, after all, I wouldn’t never be able to see her live, because I couldn’t
“Oh Harry, get a life. The girl doesn’t even know you exist!
And here you are, pining after her like a little puppy dog. It’s quite pathetic
actually” she said, her voice almost sympathetic as she shot her ‘pathetic’
brother a disapproving glance. Taking a seat on the sofa to the left of me,
Gemma turned the TV back on. It was over, she had finished her performance and
another act had taken her place. I had missed it. The sudden painful pressure
on my chest was overwhelming and I had to excuse myself from the room quickly
so Gemma wouldn’t see the tears welling in my eyes. I rushed to my room and
closed the door behind me, taking a seat on my bed and drawing my knees towards
Perhaps Gemma was right. She saw me as everyone else did,
the sad, lonely boy who spends his time obsessing over a girl who doesn’t even
know he exists. My mother would laugh and mock me when I bought another poster
with her face on it, my step-dad would tell me to find someone better looking
with a bigger chest and a slimmer figure. Gemma would say that I should find
someone with a brain between their ears because, after all, “anyone can get up
on a stage and sing a song”. It made me angry to hear the way they spoke about
her, to hear them judge someone they had never met and knew so little about. All
they had to do was open their eyes, remove their heads from the newspapers that
contain more lies than truths, and they would see the person I saw.
They would see the kind, talented, beautiful girl I had been
watching on the screen tonight. They would see all the good she has done for
those in need, all the effort he has put in to each of her albums, they would
see all the crap she puts up with daily. They would see that underneath it all,
she really is a little bit perfect.
I wiped a stray tear that had leaked from the corner of my
eye and reached beside me to grab my phone. From the small screen in my hand,
she beamed back at me, her slightly lopsided grin, bright eyes and delicate
features was all I needed to feel better. The screen went black but I quickly
pressed the button again so that her face reappeared on my lock screen. I smiled
back at her.
Ok, maybe my girl is completely and utterly perfect.