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"You don't take pictures anymore," he said, startling me out of the trance I was in. It took me a moment to collect myself. We were sitting in the middle of class, I was attempting to figure out if there were enough differences between "Gilgamesh" and "Beowulf" to form my final paper as a compare and contrast between the two. He had apparently been staring at me for some time, trying to formulate something to say. I hadn't been myself in months; I didn't think my family or friends had noticed, but apparently that was erroneous. I must've been looking at him strangely, because he blushed a little, looked down, and said "Well, you don't."

"There's nothing to take pictures of." I said, shrugging it off.

"Oh," he said, looking down in disappointment, his coffee-colored eyes shining.

"What?" I asked. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He replied. "It's just...you know...if I had a camera, I'd take pictures of you." Just then, our professor walked back in, so no more was said. He left class that day in a hurry, but his words and his eyes danced in my head for the
remainder of the night. He wouldn't return my calls or texts, and I rushed around, trying to busy myself, to distract myself.

Why did he care? That was the thought I kept coming back too. My most guarded secret was that I only took pictures in happy times and only journaled if the memories would later make me smile. Had he figured me out? Did he want me to know that somebody cared that I'd changed? Was he simply hurt that I didn't deem him worthy of photographing?

I tossed and turned all night, and when I did sleep, I dreamt of coffee-colored eyes, and lilting male voices. Still, I awoke the next morning in a better mood somehow. I guess sometimes all it takes is realizing someone notices you.

I never figured out how or why he said the things he did in class that day, but I do know that I tried and failed desperately, every day, for the rest of the semester, to capture the exact shine and color of his eyes with my silly handheld
point and shoot camera.

There is no artistic substitution for the depth of love in a college frat boy's eyes, but there is beauty in trying.

Description
"You don't take pictures anymore," he said, startling me out of the trance I was in. It took me a moment to collect myself. We were sitting in the middle of class, I was attempting to figure out if there were enough differences between "Gilgamesh" and "Beowulf" to form my final paper as a compare and contrast between the two. He had apparently been staring at me for some time, trying to formulate something to say. I hadn't been myself in months; I didn't think my family or friends had noticed, but apparently that was erroneous. I must've been looking at him strangely, because he blushed a little, looked down, and said "Well, you don't."

"There's nothing to take pictures of." I said, shrugging it off.

"Oh," he said, looking down in disappointment, his coffee-colored eyes shining.

"What?" I asked. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He replied. "It's just...you know...if I had a camera, I'd take pictures of you." Just then, our professor walked back in, so no more was said. He left class that day in a hurry, but his words and his eyes danced in my head for the
remainder of the night. He wouldn't return my calls or texts, and I rushed around, trying to busy myself, to distract myself.

Why did he care? That was the thought I kept coming back too. My most guarded secret was that I only took pictures in happy times and only journaled if the memories would later make me smile. Had he figured me out? Did he want me to know that somebody cared that I'd changed? Was he simply hurt that I didn't deem him worthy of photographing?

I tossed and turned all night, and when I did sleep, I dreamt of coffee-colored eyes, and lilting male voices. Still, I awoke the next morning in a better mood somehow. I guess sometimes all it takes is realizing someone notices you.

I never figured out how or why he said the things he did in class that day, but I do know that I tried and failed desperately, every day, for the rest of the semester, to capture the exact shine and color of his eyes with my silly handheld
point and shoot camera.

There is no artistic substitution for the depth of love in a college frat boy's eyes, but there is beauty in trying.