She's the One

We sit on the playground swings.
I look at her,
Her raven hair softly framing her face,
Those shining eyes gleaming like jewels.
She's the one.

We sit in class, passing notes.
I glance at her,
Her forehead creasing slightly as she thinks,
Those slender fingers drumming on her desk.
She's the one.

We sit in the food court of the mall.
I gaze at her,
her legs crossing as she picks up a fry,
Those feet tapping a rhythm on the floor.
She's the one.

We sit in the movie theater.
I stare at her,
Her eyes glistening with tears at a sad scene,
Those pink lips quivering.
She's the one.

We sit on a couch in her home.
I marvel at her,
Her heart belonging to another,
Those hand, never to be enclosed in mine... but...
She's the one.

Years later, I sit alone, miserable.
No longer able to look at her,
Her spirit dissipating away,
Those beautiful eyes glassy and glazed.
She was the one.

The priest reads an excerpt from her diary:

"We sit together on my couch.
I tell him I'm marrying another,
His mouth forming no protest, no declaration of love.
Those feelings will never be mine.
I'll never admit it, but...
He's the one."