Your touch electrifies me and I have to remind myself that you are not mine. I remind myself that these butterflies I feel are borrowed and I want nothing more than to be touched by you again.
You always did something to my heart that I was never able to quite understand.
I think it was a mixture of your infectious laugh and the endlessness of your blue eyes that pulled me to you like gravity and now I think about you more than I’d like to admit and I wish you could feel the same way.
I’m usually good and pushing down my feelings, consolidating them to a corner in my mind, but the brush of your hand on mine reminds me that I wish you’d touch my hand longer. It reminds me that I’ve wanted you since we were 13 and I’m sad. I’m sad because I remember that I want you like little girls want weddings and little boys want adventure, the only difference being that I’ll never experience you in the way I’ve always wanted.
You’ve always been a dream of mine: all in my head. A fairy tale and we all know those don’t exist like unicorns don’t.
You always treated me like your best friend because that’s what we were and somewhere along the bumpy road, my heart gave itself to you without my permission. Before I knew it, I wondered how beautifully safe your arms probably felt and how I wish I could lay my head in your neck and enjoy the smell of your cologne.
I wish you knew what I thought at 2 AM and that I see visions of you and me on my ceiling replaying like an infinite feature of the life I’ll never have. It taunts me and I still wake up every day wanting you more than the day before.
My heart and mind can’t come to an agreement. Half of me wants you to know and the other half is scared. I’m hurting myself, yet I’m lost.
I love you and I think these thoughts of you and I and you’ll know any of it.