I’m in love with a boy who has hair like sunshine and eyes like Nutella hot chocolate and hands soft as snake stomachs. His gaze can make me melt, because he looks at me like he adores me. And that makes me want to spend time with him, because he’s beautiful. He thinks in historical references and video games. He calls me “my lady” and smiles whenever he sees me. He lets me hold his hand and lay my head on his shoulder when Neil dies in Dead Poets Society. I think I’m in love with him. And I wish he would kiss me.
At the same time, though, I want to rip my arms to shreds and drive into oncoming traffic. Which is a very bad thing.