Tonight, on the way home, I spent a good thirty-five minutes thinking about your smile.
I spent a total of ten replays of One Direction’s What Makes You Beautiful thinking about the way you do that half-grin, the way your eyes sparkle, the way your face lights up, and the way your entire aura changes when you do that one simple action that most take for granted.
And as much as I love it, I hate it.
I hate the way you have this control over me. I hate how I can’t help the way my heart races each time I see you. I hate the way my eyes unconsciously search you out when we’re in the same room. I hate the way I have to bite my lip when you slouch sexily just so. I hate the way you’re so fucking beautiful and you have absolutely no clue about this effect you have on me. I hate the way things don’t make sense but make sense with you.
I’ve never not been in control of my actions and you just had to come waltzing in and mess up the logic of my life.
Most of all, I hate the way you’ll probably never know any of this. And because of that, all I’m banking on right now is the next time you’ll smile at me.
You know how in those cheesy movies and romance novels, they always talk about how being near the person you love makes you weak in the knees? That they basically tremble that you can scarcely keep yourself upright?
I never thought they were true. I always wrote it off as the overactive imagination of some lovestruck writer indulging in a personal fantasy.
So imagine my disbelief when I found out that the feeling exists.
Because when I was talking to you that day, and wondering how in the world can your eyes and smile be that stunning, I was also very aware of the fact that my knees were shaking and that I needed to lean on the counter or sit down, or else end up buckling and looking like a fool in front of you.
I don’t know whether to hate you for proving me wrong or love you for proving them right.
The feeling is wonderfully strange and hasn’t quite gone away.
This is the first time I’m attempting to actually write a letter to you, and it’s all because of Taylor Swift. You see, I can’t get that incident last week out of my head.
I can’t get your eyes and your smile and your laugh and your voice out of my head either.
But yes, I’ve been listening to Taylor Swift on loop and I am reminded of the night I first met you. I still remember my bewilderment, and how you whispered in my ear, and though I know you were trying to charm me, I was simply enchanted to meet you.
And yes, as much as I hate how the rest of the song goes, I was wonderstruck, blushing all the way home.
That was five months ago and not much has changed.
It’s amazing how one smile from you can make my day, or how talking to you drowns out the rest of the world.
This is the first of a series of letters I will probably write to you, and I know it is not in my place to hope for anything, but I wish you have a million reasons to smile in your dreams tonight.
Fingers crossed I’ll be seeing you this week. Sigh.
I spot you sitting on a chair in the cafe.
No, that’s not true. I actually spot your jacket first, the black one with the red stripe on the shoulders that I’ve borrowed so many times but had to return that one time you came over to my house and it was raining and you naturally needed some sort of cover to sprint down the block to where you parked your car.
The cafe is mostly empty.
So I spot you and notice that your head is in your hands and your elbows are resting on the table. I am willing to bet that it is just one of those days for you, and you are pondering the world with your eyes closed as you wait for me for our usual coffee. Well, my usual coffee. You prefer tea.
I walk over towards you, and you don’t notice me approach. In this case, it’s good. I reach over and hug you from behind, and when I feel you start in surprise, I lean over and kiss your cheek and rest my chin on your shoulder.
“Boo,” I whisper, inhaling the scent of your aftershave.
You just smile and shake your head as I disentangle myself and take my place next to you. As I reach for my usual non-fat caramel frappucino with extra coffee which you so graciously order in advance, you cover my hand with yours and lean forward suddenly, just so your face is barely an inch from mine.
My breath hitches, an eyebrow raised and my eyes involuntarily drift towards your lips. My heart beats faster as I wonder what you are about to do, when you lean forward a centimeter more and your lips turn up in a smirk.
“Boo,” you echo, leaning back and sipping your tea but never moving your gaze from my face.
Right….
