Love is a sweaty boy with crooked teeth and smelly feet. A butt chin. And greasy hair.
Love is a boy who sleeps in the crack of the two twin beds you pushed together so that he can cuddle up next to you. Love is a boy who sweats in the corner of the bed so that you can have the fans on you. Love is sharing his twin sized bed because now you have a roommate.
Love is a boy with long hair and a beautiful face. With delicate hands. And pretty eyes. A scent that consumes you. Love is a boy who sees you and not your scars.
You knew you were in love when you were able to look him in the eyes and smile as he was passionate and gentle with you. When he wanted to tell you something and you knew it had to be that he felt the same way but you were scared. You did feel the same way. You should have just said it so that he didn’t have to feel so scared. You didn’t. But in that moment you loved him more for not saying it, for thinking about how you might feel and respecting the possibility.
