To the boy that sits next to me in English class.
I adore everything about you.
I adore the way you wish you were taller, even though I personally think you are the perfect height.
I adore your hands, how they are so large compared to mine.
You, my friend, are a true piece of art.
A beautiful creation of light skin, light brown hair, long eyelashes that adorn your beautiful blue eyes, and dark pink lips.
I would not mind sitting down and studying you for hours with my eyes and hands.
I would not mind experiencing the foreign feel of your skin underneath my fingertips.
I would not mind exploring every inch of your body.
I don't believe there is such a thing as perfection, but if somehow perfection did exist, you would be pretty damn close.
I want to discover what makes you smile.
I want to memorize your laugh and store it in my mind, so I can bring it out and listen to it on a bad day.
I want your hand prints to be imprinted on my body, the smell of your cologne on the shirt you like best on me.
I want to study you until I memorize the way that every hair falls, until I memorize your heart beat.
Give me the feeling of your arms wrapped around me.
This is my only desire.
You know, I hate you for making me think these thoughts and experience these emotions.
I hate you and I freaking adore you, but you will never adore me because of her.
And when I sit in my bed alone at night, wishing that I could experience the treasure that is you, you're sharing your laugh with her.
You're sharing your smile with her.
I bet she doesn't even admire the way that your laugh is so loud and melodic like I would.
I bet she doesn't appreciate the fact that you have grazed your fingertips upon her ever so gently.
I bet she doesn't admire your lips.
How they are this beautiful shade of dark pink.
She probably doesn't cherish the moments that her head lays upon your chest as you embrace each other like I would.
She doesn't admire you like the beautiful work of art that you are.
(b.c.)