I Love Him.
You Give Me
Social Studies. Have I ever mentioned I hated it? But, he's there. It makes it soo much better. Ever since he spoke to me, he's looked my way twice in fifteen minutes. Or, maybe I've imagined it. Whatever. But, whenever I imagine him looking at me, I get this odd warmth. In my fantasy world of just us, This warmth is because he likes me. He loves me, as I love him. The teacher is assigning partners. I turn to someone tapping me. It's him. He's just standing there. Smirking. He sits next to me. Cheek in his hand, smirking. Something's crawling up my throat. He smirks at it, as though he can see it's outline. I can't breathe. He smirks, scoffing a bit. He looks a little conserned. But still smirks. I sputter, cough, and choke. He smirks more. His eyebrows are raised, and he looks alarmed. Still wearing a smirk. My stomach is flying, and he touches my hand. He smirks. It sweats and heats up, as I blush and clear my throat. I think the smirk is tattooed there. He gives me butterflies. His smirk makes them fly.