I smile when I think about her.
She was holding me the other night and my heart was racing. I wonder if she could feel it. My stomach was doing back flips; like elegant dives off the high board. I couldn’t fall back to sleep. I stayed awake for I’m not sure how long. I tried many different tactics; counting, slow deep, elongated breaths, relaxing each part of my body. Nothing worked until out of reflex, she squeezed me tighter.
I long to tell her that the thought of never being with her, losing her in any way, not being able to hold her how I want- brings tears to my eyes. Makes me want to crawl deep into a hole and sob.
I think I really do love her.
Something I thought I wasn’t capable of because I had never felt it before.
Now that I know what it’s like I want to bathe in it.
With her.
Only with her.
I want to write sonnets for her. Songs for her. Write endless love letters about each fantasy I’ve had of her. Kiss her so slowly. Spend hours in her bed, wrapped up and caressing each other.
She makes me giggle like I know a special secret. I’m my happiest running through my memories with her.
I feel lost when she subtly tells me she doesn’t need me as much as I need her.
Out right hearing that would be my ending.
I’m afraid she’ll carry on as if nothing happened.
Happy in her own world without me in it.
I want her to have every happiness but I want to be apart of that. I want to be the one to bring that smile to her beautiful, perfect face. She looks as though she was cut from marble. Yet so soft and gentle.
She always has this glow about her.
I know I stare seconds too long for it to come off as platonic.
I can’t help it.
I love her.
She has shown me emotions I’ve never felt before.
I feel fear, a type I didn’t know existed.
Not being enough for her.
Not bringing the same happiness and nervousness, joy and giddiness she brings to me.
I want her.
But it’s more than that.
I really love her.
My first.
She’s my Sophia.
My Hannah.
I love her.










