How does loving him feel like?, my sister had once asked.
I couldn’t put together my words back then,
so here it is now.
Words bearing the weight of the universe,
transliterated into a language you can comprehend.
Loving him feels like Christmas mornings at Hogwarts. When little Harry arrives in the Great Hall, and tasted magic for the very first time. It’s the same feeling Percy gets when he tastes ambrosia, the same satisfaction you’d get when Percabeth kisses underwater.
It’s the safety of your covers when the night had passed, and you still couldn’t bring yourself to sleep. It’s staying indoors when it’s pouring outside, occupied with the company of a book. It’s getting lost between the pages and not minding the time. The fresh smell of your favorite outfit once it’s out of laundry, ready to be worn again.
It’s warm,
it’s soft.
It’s not another cliché,
it’s love.
I'm sixteen, I probably wouldn't know the first thing about love.
But I think it ought to feel like this: safety and comfort, much like home.
And the deeper I fall in love with this one person, the more I realize this:
To love the right person, is to love oneself.