I’ve been thinking about you a lot. My heart rate increases just thinking about you, and I can’t

help but to daydream about the next time we make eye contact. I’m intoxicated by you. I think about seeing your smile when I should be thinking about that test I have next period, but I can’t. The only chemistry I can comprehend is what I feel between us. You are keeping me in one piece in a place where I’m being pulled apart. I force my arms by my side because if I didn’t my hands would magically find their way to your hair just so they could feel the softness. I can’t help it. I usually blurt out sentences but around you I hold my tongue. Your laugh is contagious and I would do anything to hear it every second of every day. You turn me into a hopeless romantic and I want to do all of the cliche couple things with you. Can you imagine? You and me, standing in the cold of the dark zoo, waiting for the light show to start. Me getting cold and huddling next to you for warmth, us both in insulated jackets, still cold. You pulling my beanie further down on my head as I adjust your scarf. Us walking together and seeing all the lights, making memories that we would one day tell our children. And at the end of the night, we would get hot chocolate while sitting in the warm confines of your car, joking about the cold weather, swearing to never do this again. When, in fact, we would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant spending time with each other. I dream about this imaginary life with you so much it’s starting to feel real, which will only make your rejection that much more painful. I know it’s not your fault, when I fall, I fall hard. I can see the pavement steadily approaching. After I confess, you’ll slowly stop talking to me, That’s after I’ve made the jump. Then you’ll tell me that we can’t be friends, the distance from the ground is approaching fast. Then you’ll either ignore me completely or you’ll find someone else. That when I’ll make contact, my body crushed and broken to the point of no return. Then I’ll slowly build myself back up but a part of me will be missing, and it will always be. Everytime that I have put myself back together, I am always missing a small part, soon, I will have nothing left. Years or mending and crushing will take its toll and I will be no more. One day I’ll jump and it’ll be the last time, no more coming back.