A Writer's Romance

-"You're a writer, aren't you?"

Those were the first words she spoke to me.
At the time, I was packing up, getting ready to leave the library.

I had another long day, spending the majority of my free time at the library, loitering around on my laptop,
Staring at my open wordpad as I contemplated about what to write about.

Just as I was readying to leave this girl, out of nowhere, asks me if I'm a writer.

-"I like to think I am."-
That's the only answer I could give her.
I had taken up writing as a hobby,
But no matter how hard I tried, all of my work felt underwhelming.

-"Please...
Could I get you to help me write a poem?
If that is too much trouble than anything else will do too."-

She starred at me with her big blue eyes,
Long golden hair,
Holding her hands together at her chest -
She was quite pretty at that,
Making me question why such a person would come up a complete stranger such as myself, and ask for something so absurd.

-"Why do you need something like that?"-
That's truthfully all I wanted to know.

-"I'm in love" she replied.

-"I have been looking on at a boy from a far for a while now,
 Though I haven't mustered up the courage to talk to him yet.
 Much less to tell him how I feel.
 That's why I want to give him my feelings in writing."-

-"So write him a love letter.
  You don't need something as cliche as a poem."-
I replied in a rather irritated tone.

The last thing I wanted to do was get involved with a random girl like this.

-"Well, I have never been able to put my thoughts onto paper...
 Also, he is a writer so I think he would probably enjoy something as cliche as a poem...
 Please, I need you help."-

I could only wonder what kind of fool she was. Going through such trouble for someone she barely knew.

-"I can't help you." I reply.
"I'm a horrible writer, and I don't know the first thing about love, so I don't think I can be of any help to you."-

I couldn't even come up with an idea after spending hours on end staring at a blank screen.
I'm a pathetic writer, so I was just telling her the truth.

-"It would be best if you found someone else."-

She grew silent.
Guessing she finally understood,
I put a strap of my backpack on my right shoulder, and start walking towards the stairs leading down towards the exit.

Behind me I hear a faint plea spoken:
-"Please...
 I need your help!
 It has to be you!
 Please..."-

When I turned around I found she had almost brought herself to tears.

I took a look at my watch.
(There was still about an hour and a half until the library closed not to mention it was Saturday evening so the library was practically empty.)

-"Fine. I'll help you until the library closes, and then that will be it.
 Also, I warned you I'm an awful writer, so don't expect too much."-

The sadness on her face disappeared.
It was replaced by an enchanting smile like none I had ever seen before.

This girl...
I wonder what kind of guy she is writing this for.

But that was an irrelevant question.
In truth I could only be considered a messenger -
Trying to get her feeling's through to whoever was going to read what we were going to write.

She chose a poem, despite me constantly telling her that I was no poet.
But her reply was always:
-"It's going to be alright, we'll do it together."-

So we started -
She spoke her feelings, and I wrote them onto the empty text document.

Her words were thought out...
They were powerful...
They even rhymed...

She either had no idea what she was doing, and got lucky or she was really gifted.
Having told me she had no prior experience, I could only assume that here I was writing a true blooded poets words down.

Time flew by in what seemed like an instant as we completed the poem under an hour.
After which we edited it together.

Once it was finished, she asked me what I thought about it.

-"I don't understand poetry...
 Nor do I understand romance much less such feelings of hope and love..."-

She remained silent.

I sent the finished poem to the email she had given me and packed up.
She still remained silent.

Were my words really that sad...
I could only wonder.

The time for goodbyes came as the library made it's last call
-"I wish you luck."-
That's all I muster up to say.
After which I walk away.

I start heading down the stairs.
I knew I probably won't be seeing this girl ever again.
From the top of the staircase I hear her yell:
-"Thank You!
 I hope you come to understand poetry and love some day!"-

Her last words caught me off guard.
I sigh.
-"Truly quite the peculiar girl."- I couldn't help but mutter out.

Still, I thought about those final words all through my walk back home.
Finding myself rather depressed for some reason.
Once again, I told myself it didn't matter
And so time went on...

A week passed...
I once again found myself at the library.
Staring into my empty wordpad,
Wondering, why I even bothered with writing.

I grew mad at myself,
For some reason that girl came to mind -
I couldn't stop thinking about her, and wondering how she was doing.
Most of all I was wondering if that poem had been able to relay the message of love.

-"Probably not..."-

After all, it was the fairy tale thoughts a delusional girl written by a worthless writer.

Another half an hour passed by in contemplation, after which I decided to give up on writing as a whole.
The world had no use for another writer, much less someone like.

At that moment from the corner of my eye, I noticed someone approaching.
I turned and saw that it was the girl -
She stopped right in front of me and held out a letter with both hands.

All she said was:
-"Please read this."-

As I was opening the envelope I couldn't help but ask:
-"What happened? Did you give him the poem?"-

-"..."-

I couldn't stop myself from asking the one question that ran through my mind:
-"Did he like it?"-

-"..."-
She didn't reply.

She just stood there eagerly watching my interactions with the envelope.
I had finally managed to open it.
Inside there was a neatly folded sheet of paper on which something was written.
-"What is this?"-

-"...My feelings..."-
She timidly replied.

-"Hmm?
 Feelings of gratitude, eh?
 The thank you you said last time was more than enough, and anyway I thought you couldn't write your own feelings on lett..."-

I cut myself off as I started reading what was written on the page...

-"What...
 Why is this in here?"-

(...It was the poem we had written on Saturday...)

-"You wanted to know whether or not I had given it to him...
 Well, I just did."-

At that moment it seemed as if time had stopped flowing.
I felt overwhelmed by something I had never experience before
My head became foggy...
My heart raced in way like never before...

For some reason as I read this familiar poem,
Every line seemed to set off a different emotion within me.
Reaching the ending, the world felt steady once more.

She was looking at me with her blue eyes,
Timid as ever.
As if anxiously awaiting an answer to the question whether or not her feelings had gotten through...

I had lost all trails of thought, as the world seemed different than usual...
I didn't know what to do...
Finally, words escaped my mouth based not on pure rational thought, but emotion:
-"It is beautiful...just like you."-

As soon as I finished speaking those words she hugged me.
For the first time I felt my cold soul had fill with warmth.

-"I have always looked on, and dreamed of writing a poem in which I could tell you how I feel...
 This is the poem I wrote with you, for you."-

Yet again, her words had woken me up to the world.
At that moment I thought back to the decision I had made earlier, and thought that

Maybe...
Possibly...
Another writer in the world might not be such a bad thing...
A revelation I chose not to think about at such a moment.

I had already decided to take a break from starring at empty wordpads all day.

At that moment I had chosen to start "writing a story" with the girl I love.