Poetry is plucking at the heartstrings, and making music with them.
Dennis Gabor

I thought of Yoona and what to tell her if I were Jiyong.

You are as beautiful as

A shell washed up on the beach

A dewdrop on a rose petal

The sunlight filtering through the windows

Casting a halo on your hair, like an angel

The next day I handed Jiyong the note after school let out.

After the first note he gave her, Yoona paid more attention to him. I was right into thinking that Yoona would enjoy flattery. She loved that he was a romantic and that he wrote for her, unlike the other guys she has dated.

So the next week, I was not surprised that I saw them holding hands and eating lunch together. Yoona was clinging to Jiyong as if he was her lifeline, whispering what I’d guess are sweet words to his ear, and feeding him from her plate. The public display was sickeningly sweet. And she would shoot any girl a look if she catches them looking at Jiyong.

After class, Jiyong came to me, thanking me profusely.

“Thank you Dara. I owe you” he said grasping my hand in thanks, blinding me with his smile.

Of course he does. I just don’t know if he knew how much.

“It’s alright.” I told him, shrugging my shoulders like it was no big deal.

“You don’t know how happy I feel. How happy she makes me. It's like having these freaking butterflies people keep talking about.” He gushed, like I haven’t seen him like this before. This is the most conversation we’ve had all year.

“I guess, I‘ll be going. Yoona’s waiting for me and she hates waiting.” He said.

“Well, goodluck. I hope she keeps you happy.” I said, offering a small smile.

He smiled at me again, before I watched him walk away,