The blue of a hooker.
Nothing I write can do this justice.
My head is a mess of inside jokes, thoughts of you, and too much champagne.
You're fascinating. And not just you, but what you do to me.
The letters on my delete (more commonly known as backspace) button are worn from our conversations. Guessing and second guessing my every word. I live to impress you.
Your writing isn't about me, but I pretend it is and it makes me weak in the knees.
I don't understand what's happening.
10, 20, 50 years down the road, I want to be able to say "I knew from the moment I saw him." I don't know what I knew, but I know it. I don't know what that means, but I want it. I do know what it means, but I can't admit it because it scares me and I'm embarrassed to even think it.
There is no rhyme or reason. So, my only approach is to write exactly what I think as I think it. I'm nowhere near the eloquent writer you are.
We didn't actually watch any of the episodes we planned on, but it was a good excuse to get near each other.
This is going to be one of those instances when every song and every disgusting romantic comedy is going to remind me of him.
I'm glad he was wearing my hair band on his wrist when I left.
God, our kisses are incredible. Movie-like. Time-stopping (Probably didn't need a dash).
We spent the entire night in each other's arms. Its worthy of exclamation points and bold print. This, more than anything, tells me everything I need to know. I woke up so many times during the night from being too warm. I adjusted, got out from under the covers. But never out from under your arm. I'm blown away. I can't even manage to keep my pillows on my bed during the night, but I had to be touching you. You brought it up the next morning. The fact that you knew what i was thinking was just astonishing.
Why do I feel this way about someone I've spent 24 hours with? It isn't logical. It doesn't make sense. I've been reading into every movement, trying to make sense of it.
You have the most beautiful, soft skin I've ever touched. It puts mine to shame. Your blue eyes are breathtaking. That cowlick. That small light patch on the back of your head, I wonder if its natural or dyed. Mole on the side of your jaw. That little smirk you do. Your arms. The way you come back into the room and say "Oh, hey." The way our bodies just fit together. Every inch of you is perfect. Its just too much.
I can't stop telling him these things. I want to stop because I feel too vulnerable, but I need him to know. I don't know if its right. I don't want him to know EVERYTHING I'm feeling, but I can't help it.
I'm honest with him and he understands me. This is so different.
Everything is so complicated.
I could write volumes on the subtle things I love about you.
But, where do we go from here?
If anyone but me gets through reading this, I'd be impressed. Its pretty pathetic.
My head is a mess of inside jokes, thoughts of you, and too much champagne.
You're fascinating. And not just you, but what you do to me.
The letters on my delete (more commonly known as backspace) button are worn from our conversations. Guessing and second guessing my every word. I live to impress you.
Your writing isn't about me, but I pretend it is and it makes me weak in the knees.
I don't understand what's happening.
10, 20, 50 years down the road, I want to be able to say "I knew from the moment I saw him." I don't know what I knew, but I know it. I don't know what that means, but I want it. I do know what it means, but I can't admit it because it scares me and I'm embarrassed to even think it.
There is no rhyme or reason. So, my only approach is to write exactly what I think as I think it. I'm nowhere near the eloquent writer you are.
We didn't actually watch any of the episodes we planned on, but it was a good excuse to get near each other.
This is going to be one of those instances when every song and every disgusting romantic comedy is going to remind me of him.
I'm glad he was wearing my hair band on his wrist when I left.
God, our kisses are incredible. Movie-like. Time-stopping (Probably didn't need a dash).
We spent the entire night in each other's arms. Its worthy of exclamation points and bold print. This, more than anything, tells me everything I need to know. I woke up so many times during the night from being too warm. I adjusted, got out from under the covers. But never out from under your arm. I'm blown away. I can't even manage to keep my pillows on my bed during the night, but I had to be touching you. You brought it up the next morning. The fact that you knew what i was thinking was just astonishing.
Why do I feel this way about someone I've spent 24 hours with? It isn't logical. It doesn't make sense. I've been reading into every movement, trying to make sense of it.
You have the most beautiful, soft skin I've ever touched. It puts mine to shame. Your blue eyes are breathtaking. That cowlick. That small light patch on the back of your head, I wonder if its natural or dyed. Mole on the side of your jaw. That little smirk you do. Your arms. The way you come back into the room and say "Oh, hey." The way our bodies just fit together. Every inch of you is perfect. Its just too much.
I can't stop telling him these things. I want to stop because I feel too vulnerable, but I need him to know. I don't know if its right. I don't want him to know EVERYTHING I'm feeling, but I can't help it.
I'm honest with him and he understands me. This is so different.
Everything is so complicated.
I could write volumes on the subtle things I love about you.
But, where do we go from here?
If anyone but me gets through reading this, I'd be impressed. Its pretty pathetic.