Tuesday, 12 April 2016

loveletters to no one in particular

I'll spend the summer daydreaming about you. I'll sit on the sofa, a glass of I-don't-know-what-kind-of-chemicals mixed with alcohol in my hand, a book in the other and I'll wish to inhale your scent that always tickles my nose when you're close, when you hug me. It's really nice. I'll imagine myself in your jumper, smelling you in my clothes. I'll imagine myself next to you curled up in a ball reading, holding your hand. I'll imagine you inhaling the smell of my shampoo that somehow manages to stay in my hair for at least the next three days when you hug me. You smell really nice. That's the worst part of your hugs - trying to inhale your scent within a second.

I'll spend the summer daydreaming about you. I'll sit in the train, my head leaning against the window, looking out, imagining your palm in mine and how our fingers would intertwine. I'll sit on the beach, sand between my toes, wind breezing though my hair and longing to see it ruffle yours. I long for your hands around my wrists, dragging me along unexpectedly and smiling at me when I roll my eyes. I'll fall asleep staring at the ceiling, reliving every smile you ever giftet me. I'll imagine and imagine and imagine until I'll believe I'm absolutely in love and so are you when I see you again. I'll spend the summer debating whether to send you a text or not, wanting to ask you out for coffee but never actually building up the courage to do so. Falling in love is a rather disgusting thing, and while I defend my heard and brain with teeth and claws you'll stand there and smile your sad, soft, warm almost smile. My body will refuse to move and then I'll fall, praying you intend on catching me. If you do, I already see myself leaning against you because you're always there, always present, my oak tree in the eye of the storm. And oh, how I long for your arms around my waist, your hands in my hair, your breath on my neck, my lips on your cheek. I just want you to look at me forever because your gaze has a certain sparke, a warmth, a promise in it that I cannot help to adore. Oh, how I adore you.

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