Sometimes she sits there and wonders blankly. Her long trains of thoughts would distract her from the reality of life. A kind of life that she sometimes abhors and wishes to disappear for a split moment. But when she closes her eyes, and opens it for the two-trillion times, it's the same kind of reality. 

She sits there and thinks to herself, of how is it possible for this particular man to put his words beautifully that it would tug every inch of her heartstrings. She finds it funny of how it is possible for her to have this tiny winy crush on this particular man. She would shrug and brushes off the feelings of her shoulder most of the times, but it bothers her sometimes, of how naturally would she type the address of his blog in a heartbeat, presses enter and be amazed with every line of his sentences, and every piece of its perfectly placed words into puzzles. 

She learns that he has a crush on someone— a girl whom he would imagine as white as one of those milky clouds up there, the kind of pure white that would not fade and slowly disappear from his sight, and that precious one that he would always have to keep his eyes on, and of those pretty shades of white that he would never grasp his thoughts about it, even if he tries to put his bare hands into it.

White. Really, what kind of white is she? She's clumsy, predictable, sensitive, socially awkward and when it comes to describing herself, she seems to have lost for words, as she could barely construct ten helpless words for a single sentence of describing her petty self. Not even an adjective. She's colourless, a wallflower. One that people tend to ignore, simply because she prefers to stay silent and fades into the background than trying to blend in with the crowds, by pretending to be anybody but her. To put it in a simpler way, she's colourless. A white is barely a colour, but it's not less than a colour, than those who are colourless. Well, if that actually makes any sense. 

It's funny how this tiny winy crush would put her into some deep thoughts of the scary future, as it scatters to all sort of irrelevant things. It's a tiny crush, not much to put butterflies roaming when she sees him occasionally by chances. She just loves how he writes. And it's called a crush for a reason, she thinks.

So, she closes her eyes, and opens it for the two-trillion times, and it's the same kind of reality. 

pairing is up to your imaginations :)