/lit/ - Literature

I don't actually write like this, I was just tempted to try.
>also pic is unrelated

You don't remember when it was that you began to notice him, or even when he first appeared. You only know that in the twelve or so years that you have been in attendance, you have never seen such a beautiful boy as he is. You are slowly drawn in by your growing fascination; but, it must be stressed, at the outset you meant to be an observer, and nothing more. To go any further did not once cross your mind, for how could you? He was almost too ethereal, and more importantly far too young, to notice one such as you. You were free, at least, to admire him from a distance, and to wonder about him. For beauty so pure and untouched is in itself a thing of perversity, a flower that shamelessly and unknowingly opens out its blinding white petals to the world. Is he as innocent within as he appears without? His eyes are gentle and heavy-lidded, giving the impression of the magnanimity of a saint; and yet could there be the suggestion of the seducer? Moments of idleness are bountiful, and during these the mind wanders, and invents intriguing and unlikely truths lying underneath otherwise plain veneers.