With a Capital B

She is Beautiful.

It doesn't matter what anybody else thinks, because she is. To you, she is perfect.

She's called many things at your school. A loser, a loner, a bookworm. But so are you, you smile bitterly. So it's ok.

Every time you see her, your heart breaks. Especially when she's with him. He doesn't deserve her. She doesn't deserve to be cast aside whenever he feels like it, only to be picked back up again when he wants a quick fuck. Nobody deserves that. Especially not her. Stories about her echo around school constantly. Rumors of who she's been with, who she fancies.

And all the while you stand aside, and watch her pain continue.

If you had a choice in the matter, you would tell her. You would take her in your arms, and tell her that you love her, stroke her hair, "Don't worry, sweetie, it's all gonna be okay..."

But you don't. Because she doesn't love you. She doesn't even see you. Not really. Not lovingly. Not like you see her.

Because you *see* her. More so than anybody else. More so than her best friend. Because you can relate. You can see all of the pain, that she hides so well. You can see it.

And if you had a choice, you would take her. You would kiss her, and love her, and take her to heights of ecstacy the like of which she has never known. You could *worship* her. Because she is your Goddess. You adore her. But you can never tell.

And you think she knows. She has to know. It must show it your eyes - every time you look at her, when you accidentally touch...you snatch your hand away. You do not want to show it. It would break your heart if she hated you. More so than it does already.

But you don't have a choice.

And you watch as she talks with him, pulling away as he touches her, long golden locks swinging as she turns her head to avoid his kiss. And still she will not end it. She will continue to be used in a way that makes you want to walk right up and hex him into oblivion. But you don't.

Because she can never know. Not for sure, any way.

Instead you stand and watch as your heart shatters at your feet.

And she will never know. And so you stand aside, and watch her pain continue, never able to tell her what you have always known as truth, and what *she* is never told, because no body else can see her.

She will never know of your love, never know how perfect she truly is, and will always think of herself as ugly, and cheap, and worthless, because she cannot see any longer who and what she truly is. She is blinded by the general consent, that she is a slut, and a whore, and worthless...

But you see her. Underneath. The person who she *truly* is. Beacause truly?

She is Beautiful.

With a capital B.