(Mitchell's P.O.V.)

I am not my brother.

I do not have perfectly styled auburn hair-I have chin length auburn hair that hangs in my face in a completely unappealing way. I do not have light green eyes with pale lashes that make people swoon. No, I don't. Instead, I have dark green eyes that are nothing to brag about with long, dark eyelashes that are too feminine for my liking. I am not tall or handsome. And I do not have half the school fawning over me. In fact, no body in school even knows who I am. So, you see, I am not my brother, and I never will be.

But I am Mitchell, and for now, I guess that's okay.

"Cody, your brother's just so adorable," a girl with long blonde hair and hazel eyes said.

I squirmed in my seat, uncomfortable from being stared at. This girl always called me adorable or cute every time she came over, which was often, but I didn't know what she was talking about. Clearly, she could see that compared to Cody, I was nothing special.

"Try telling him that," Cody said to her from the entrance to the living room. I glanced up from the pages of my book to see him leaning against the frame in such a suave manner that it made me jealous since he wasn't even trying to be cool. I looked back down at my book, biting my tongue.

"Mitchell, you're adorable," Ellie told me.

I shook my head without looking up from reading. "No. I am not."

"Mitch, stop being modest all the time," my brother said, moving from the doorway to other side of the room to turn on the stereo.

"I'm not being modest, I'm being honest," I replied and uncrossed my legs from underneath me. It was time to leave. I didn't have to be at work for another hour but with Cody's music blearing throughout the house, it was evident that I wasn't going to be able to read in peace.

"Are you leaving?" Ellie asked, her pretty head cocked to the side and I wondered why she wasn't with my brother. They were both beautiful enough.

"He's gotta go to work," Cody told her as the music began to play. I winced at the sound of screaming vocals and loud drums.

"Bye," I mumbled before walking out of the room and eventually the house.

It was nice outside. I had always enjoyed October because of the crisp feel to the air as well as the color of the leaves. Unfortunately, it was still too early in the month for the leaves to be changing, but I did see an orange or yellow leaf here and there. I looked up at the sky as I walked along the sidewalk. For the most part, the sky was clear and a very pretty blue with a couple of big fluffy white clouds. That was how I liked it. I loved being able to see the sky and I loved it even more when it was sunny. And it was sunny-the afternoon light was reflecting off the park swings in an orangey glow and I could feel the heat of it on my back where my black hoodie was absorbing it.

I walked over to the swings and sat down. Wrapping my arms around the metal chains, I pushed myself back and forth a little. Now that I was here, I really didn't want to read. I set the book down in my lap and glanced around the empty park. My eyes landed on the monkey bars and I remembered a day a few years ago when I had been here with Cody. I must have been around ten at the time and Cody was teaching me how to go from one bar to the next. I'd been shorter than I was now, and when my hand had slipped from the bar, the drop to the ground had seemed long and scary. I'd ended up spraining my wrist. Cody'd had to practically carry me back to the house because I'd been crying so hard.

I averted my eyes away from the monkey bars, trying to forget about that embarrassing moment because it once again showed how I was different from Cody. Compared to him, I was weak. Cody had never cried when he'd fell out of a tree and broke his arm. And he hadn't cried when he'd fallen off his bike and had to get five stitches. But me...I cried when I sprained my wrist. Pathetic.

There was a strong gust of wind that caused the swings next to me to move. My eyes flickered to the left at the sound of the chains creaking, and something purple caught my attention. I got off the swing and walked over to the pole where the purple thing was laying on the ground. It was a composition notebook with a solid purple cover. I flipped it over in my hands, looking for anything that might indicate who it belonged to, but I didn't even find initials.

I sat back down in my swing and stared at the notebook. It looked brand new. I wondered briefly if the name of the owner was on the inside, but I didn't want to open it. That seemed to be an invasion of privacy and I would feel guilty if I read anything that was in this notebook, even if the person it belonged to was a total stranger. Fighting a pointless battle with myself, I stroked the cover with my fingers, noticing how it was slightly reflective. I bet the person who lost this was missing it, whoever they were. And I bet that they would probably want whoever found it to give it back to them. So, with that in mind, I opened the cover and glanced at the inside of it. There was no name there either.

Sighing, I shifted my eyes to the first page of the notebook. Immediately, I realized that this wasn't a notebook for school. The way the date was written in the corner told me that this notebook was a diary. Arguing with myself mentally, I snapped the journal closed. I had no right to read that, so I shouldn't even bother opening it again. But the fact that the date up in the corner of the page had read October 1st, which was only seven days ago, and the cursive script it was written in, made me curious. I opened the diary again, biting my lip in guilt, but marveling at the pure brilliance of the handwriting. It didn't even seem like a person could have written the words on the page since every letter was drawn so perfectly it looked like computer font. It was indeed someone's handwriting, though, and that alone was what made me so curious to whom this person was that I actually began to read the journal.

October 1st

Beauty is defined as being the quality that gives pleasure to the mind and senses. To me there are only two things in this world that can be considered beautiful. I'll start with the second...

Clouds are definitely the most appealing part of the sky. I find them fascinating. They can be innocent-puffy things that resemble cotton. And they can also be romantic-long, skinny slivers and wisps tinted pink, purple, and orange by a setting sun. But clouds can also be dangerous and frightening-huge dark gray thunderheads that coat the whole sky, pouring down rain, hail, and lightning.

I love clouds, but I also fear them-no, I respect them because there is no possible way clouds are only made up of condensed water droplets. Clouds are magical...at least they are to me.

Yet, despite how much I find clouds beautiful, there is something else even more stunning. I say something but I really mean someone. He is the most beautiful thing that inhabits this earth. He is by far the definition of beauty. I have found nothing that can compare to those alluring forest eyes of his or his smile. And his hair puts any fall leaf to shame. He is so magnificent.

That boy is my love-the only one my heart beats for. But, unfortunately, our love can never be. My flower does not know me and I do not even know his name for I am a coward. I see him everyday yet I do not have the courage to talk to him.

Besides, my father would kill me if he found out I loved him.

I closed the notebook and blinked. My first impression about the writer was that whoever it was had a very poetic way of thinking. Even though I had never met this person, I suddenly felt connected to them. By one diary entry I had entered another person's mind and had been captivated by it. Whoever this journal belonged to, I was sure that if we ever met, we would get along very well. The way they thought was a lot like how I did just more poetic. I wanted to find this person, but even more, I wanted to keep reading what they had wrote.

No longer feeling guilty for intruding on the personal thoughts of a stranger, I opened to the second entry then glanced down at my watch. Oh great, I was late for work.