As I sit down to type these words, there is nothing more that I want to write about than you. You clog every pore in my face, every inch of my mind, every cell of blood that runs in my veins is tainted by the thought of your voice saying my name. However, I do not wish to write about how your eyes burn through my flesh and seep into my bones. I want to write about something real, something raw. Something that is not just a lonely desire I carry. I want to write about. . . you. Its always been you, this stupid lust, this first love. I want to write about how I take the looks you throw my way and hoard them in a crystal box, that no one will ever open because I am the holder of the key. And I know this isn't fair for you because it is not my box to keep, you’re eyes are not meant for me. . .I want to write about heartache and longing for your arms around me. I want you to know that I want you to be happy. I’ll write you letters everyday if I need to. But I will not send them, for I know you will think it’s strange that a girl like me is so infatuated by a boy like you. But it doesn't matter because even though you are broken, I want you. Not so I can fix you or try to heal you. I want to feel your pain with you, so that when you feel like you are drowning, you will know that you’re not alone. . .I want to write silly metaphors that only a young naive girl could come up with, that are so cliche it hurts. But it won’t matter because I can feel your hand in mine and the earth underneath my feet. And when I inhale the air around me, I know it is your exhale that is being ****** through my empty lungs. . .I don’t want to write a love poem, but when I think of you, it’s all there seems to be.