If you haven’t seen a person study, you have missed a mystically appealing attraction.

As a student in high school, I often see classmates cranking on homework assignments, but the raw enjoyment of learning is substituted with insolent speech or contemptuous rudeness. The average student finds work to be a burden, the below average find it to be a torturous challenge, and the ones who excel process it as exertion directed to produce or accomplish results.

Watching these students is a livid comparison to those of no consequence, influence, or distinction. They’re insignificant. They’re students.

I’m speaking of a very particular type of a person; where the craving to learn is perilously controlling, a desire that overcomes the basic human instinct to conduct a sense of comfort.

They crave their education.

Willing to laboriously defy what the assemblage of society demands, rebelling against parts forming a complex or unitary whole. They walk alone because their knowledge gives them the vigor to abstract fear from their nerves and replace it with curiosity and originality.

These people stray from human connection, they will leave their own shadow and walk through the darkest cave if it should increase their own understanding. It makes them unattainable; a hand reaching to touch a ghost, not endowed with the faculty of consideration as you’re left to look at them with irretrievable loneliness.

A sweet, odd sensation of solitude, but the open disregard to interfere.

Observing her beneath the brazen glow of light, shining gold strands that gently sway against her back when she tilts her head and --

Pauses.

A cessation of activity due to doubt or uncertainty; a momentary hesitation. Lean, delicate fingers that rest against the wondrous keys that permit her to indulge in her own world.

Pearlescent blue eyes glancing to lowly stacked papers, rich and warm from the illuminating lamp. Dark pupils flicker back and forth, left to right, and they snap upward, blinking toward the ceiling as they rapidly calculate from what they have just absorbed.

Unaware of the floor her feet stand on; these people aren’t grounded.

Eyes that flourish with the vitality of the ocean -- a being so vast and powerful, perceived with such beautiful brilliance, and a depth so deep, to have all its secrets astirred is an impossibility.

She springs from her woven stool, an obscure twilight befalling her as she moves farther from the lustrous warmth of the light. With a plump book in hand, she crawls over the couch and sags down into the cushions; seeking, searching.

Minutes tick by, and for some inexplicable reason, you can’t turn a blind eye.

The small curvature of her mouth when reading an alien passage, her legs snugly curling up against her chest, the delicate, puzzled arch of a thin eyebrow, each minuscule tangent having an indisputable appeal. If it weren’t for the slight rise and fall of her shoulders, you would think she has uprooted too far into space and might not come back at all.

So, when she turns toward you after a small eternity, and says with glorified excitement, “I have it,” you won’t be able to answer with anything more than a fool’s grin.

Acknowledgement is defined as recognizing the truth or existence in something, but it can’t justify this kind of acknowledgement.

It is not realizing the truth or an existence, but forgetting it, as you become a part of their world.