I Don’t Know Why

I don’t know why. I just couldn’t help myself. I still can’t. I wake up, think of you, kick myself for thinking of you, get ready, go to school, and see your beautiful funny-looking face, instantly smiling but then realizing I’m doing so and looking away. Everyday, this happens. Everyday, I notice you, look at you, think a little too much about you. A lot too much. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because you’re so funny, holding the attention of the class, including my own, as you make a silly comment about something someone said, making the entire class laugh, but no one more than me. Maybe it’s your own laugh, so obnoxious yet adorable, one of my favorite sounds, making me giggle just at hearing it come out of you. Maybe it’s your voice, so deep and soothing, unlike any other, tickling my brain whenever you speak, and you always say the right thing even when you don’t. Or the way you sing, loud, very loud, but quite nicely after some practice, and the grin on your face when you realize you hit those notes perfectly after hours of trying is everything in the world. Your laugh makes me laugh, your smile makes me smile. I don’t know why. You’re not even thaaat “cute” or “hot” or “handsome,” but there’s just something about you that makes up for all that, and for some reason some of the things you sometimes do make you seem “cute” and “hot” and “handsome” in the moment, like you’re this whole other person I can only catch a glimpse of at certain points in time. Then again, I’m not “pretty” or “beautiful,” either, alrhough you seem delusional enough to maybe think so. Maybe it’s your willingness to help others or how fast you can pick things up in class or any of those other little things about you. Maybe it’s the fact that your eyes are the most gorgeous two things I’ve ever seen—I finally understand why they say they’re “drowning” in your “ocean eyes.” Maybe it’s because you use those eyes to steal a glance here and there, and unintentionally intentionally called me “pretty,” and have brushed my hands two or three times now, “accidentally,” of course. But I can’t help but long for the day it isn’t accidental. I’m not sure why, but I want to get to know you and feel you and touch you and maybe even kiss you and touch you more and feel you more and kiss you harder and fall in love. Maybe. But I don’t know why.

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