Waiting is a terrible form of torture that I subject myself to.
I look away for a moment, my impatient mind flustered, and you're gone.
I chuckle despite myself because I can't believe it. You've left me breathless again.
You've made my heart thud and my palms slick.
I waited, stared at what you wrote, at what I wrote. Cursed myself for my ****** awkwardness.
Didn't I ask the proper questions? Use the corret smiley face in the right context? Did I stay behind the necessary boundaries?
Or was my fatal mistake due to the fact that I didn't cross that invisible line?
Was it because I didn't look between each sliver between each letter in each word in every sentence?
Was I supposed to do that? Was I? Are my questions too many or not enough?
You had such a striking smirk... I wish I could picture it still.
Your presence was remarkable, I had hoped it'd linger around me longer.
You're so astounding, astonishing, outstanding. God how I wish you knew these things.
I wish you knew that the scar you imprinted on my memory was still raw and hungry for more.
Waiting is terrible, torturous as I said before.
But its cool, I'll wait. We both will.