I C U

Laila Sharpe.

Laila, Laila, Laila.

Her name rolls off my tongue. She's the epitome of a goddess, a angel. All those pronouns or nouns whatever they are, it all defines, Laila.

She's our little piece of Hollywood in our town. Born into the richest family in town, The Sharpes, Laila took the modeling world by storm. Gracing the covers of Elle, Teen Vogue, Vogue. She's done it all.

Seen it all.

Pressing play on my iphone I watch her give an old interview on E! News in awe.

"No, No. Don't get me wrong I love my job. I do. But I'm entering my final year of Highschool and I really just want to come down from the cloud and be a regular eighteen year old. So I'm heading back home of Oregon , taking this year off and be..a regular teen."

That's what i love about Laila. Shes always been down to earth. The fame, the money none of that mattered to Laila. And I loved it. I loved her. I'd have to show her that she belonged her. Home.

With me.

Taking out my notepad I made a list of things, flowers, balloons,chocolates, stuffed animals. The works.

Nothing is too much for Laila.

I stood outside of her home and waited for her to come outside and find my flowers.

Pink.

She likes pink. She said so on Ellen on June 12 2012.

She even wore a pink dress. Yeah. I remembered everything Laila says.

Suddenly I see her slevete shillouette brush past the window and make its way towards the door. My breathe catches in my throat as she opens it.

"Laila..." I whisper. She's stands in the doorway wearing a silk robe that it tied tightly around her slim waist. Her her hair is tied neatly up in a bun. She steps out into her porch and looks around before bending down to pick up her present and retreats inside.

My angel.

My goddess.

My love.

Laila.

You will be mine.

I guarantee it.