september tenth two-thousand seventeen
there was a boy.
he needed a licence to kill with eyes like his. perfect sun kissed completion, gorgeous, silky chocolate hair.
this boy was doing things to her, making her feel like she never had before.
chubby cheeks with a rose hue, a genuine smile that always caused her eyes to wrinkle at the mere mention of him.
does he know, will he ever know?
how with words he wipes her tears away?
how loved and appreciated she always feels in his presence?
even though she might not receive proper and well needed sleep, it didn't phase her, she would gladly give it all up to exchange late night messages with him.
so far this has been approximately one-hundred ten words that force her brain to question what love is and if it is applicable to this specific situation involving herself and him stuck in the middle.
does she love him, does she not?
as of now she is definitely confident that picking petals off of daisies, puckering her lips and watching dandelion fluff dance peacefully in the wind is not the solution to this troublesome question.
but what she craves is him, her small frame to be engulfed in his arms, bodies pressing together.
if only it lasts a second, she will still jump at the opportunity for a hug.
because unlike all the other boys, he most definitely cares a lot about her.
willing to do anything for her, herself returning those strong emotions.
he's just a terrific person, no catch.
because he can sense when something is off in her life, he is simply too good for her, and this world.
he might not be made aware of it, but he deserves everything.
she can't promise to be all that, and is quite aware, on the other side of the spectrum she couldn't help her bold- and undecided- feelings towards him.
he was also the cause of a certain hoodie only being worn once.
see, at night when the deep, dark things unexpectedly creep up on her, she just cuddles that special hoodie she wore in his company.
on the contrary, she would never let anyone know about it, out of fear of terrible embarrassment.
so as she lies awake at eleven pm dreading school tomorrow, fingertips pressing the keys rhythmically, himself being the only thought to occupy her complex brain.
she mindlessly sent him this, and as he asked if it was about him, the panic rose in her body, her heart dropping to the pit of her stomach.
thank heaven she was witty, and ansel elgort has brown hair.
it is about him, a boy i care so much about, but he shall never get the satisfaction of my confession.