**** me.
Here I go again, meeting a blue eyed boy and tripping myself into a trap, catching feelings and getting infected more than I should. His tremendous fingertips tuck against mine, making mine tremble in a way I forgot they could. My fingers are dwarves against his, trying to hold onto something tangible, something real, as he breathes heavy air my way and I giggle, unable to handle the seriousness.
**** me.
Because this is serious. We laugh and poke and **** and joke but when I look into his eyes, I know. I know for once this is something far more serious than a fling, than dating, than any of it. He is my friend and we are standing here bare to each other and we are not turning away, not hiding unto ourselves, we are basking in the glory of each other's nakedness and loving it.  
**** me.
Each time he touches my side I feel a flutter and a yearning that I haven't felt so strong in a long time. He is touching me, and kissing me, and each moment I wait for the next touch, the next kiss, I go crazier and crazier. I crave his hands on mine, on my body, on all of me, and I can't handle it.
**** me.
Pull me down onto you and make me feel something I've never felt before. Make me forget all those other boys to the point only you exist and I exist and that's all that matters. Make me feel beautiful naked. Make me real. Make yourself unforgettable.
**** me.
I'm falling in love with him.
Hard.
****.
Me.