Im not one of those people that like to use something like a coin to make a decision, no matter how important, or how small and meaningless. Even if I really need to make up my mind and I have no clue, I don’t like to use that. Because if it lands on tails, I think, ‘I don’t like tails. I’m not gonna listen to this.’
But if it lands on heads, I think, ‘the coin doesn’t know which one to choose, you can’t just leave it at that.’
It takes me a long time to decide something.

I’m also not one of those people that sit in a field, picking petals off daisies and saying, “He loves me, he loves me not.”
I didn’t even believe in, or want, love before I met you.
I try to say I still don’t believe in it, but I can’t lie.
Thinking about you non-stop.
Imagining myself with you, all the time.
Thinking you are perfect in everyway.
Getting jealous when you talk to other girls.
Feeling like I’m finally happy and worth something when we talk and laugh.
I know love can’t really be defined, but I’d say that is it.

I want to know things about you.
I already know a lot.
We talk about nothing, anything and everything.
But I want to know things like:
Do you like the sound of rain, of thunder, or do you prefer the feel of the sun on your skin?
Do you like orange juice or orange squash better?
Do you love or hate marmite?
Do you prefer to talk to friends or sit alone and listen to music, or both; which one do you prefer right now?
And other things, like:
Do you think of me throughout your day? How many seconds are spent thinking of me? What do you like about me and what are things you would change if you could? Would you keep everything the same, or get rid of it all?
I’d keep everything of yours.

When you talk to me, does your heart race like mine does?
Do your muscles tighten and your breathing quicken and your hands shake and your smile get bigger? When you look into my eyes, what is it you think?
Or do you think nothing, like me?
It’s strange, isn’t it? Ironic, that the only time I can escape thinking of you, is when Im looking into your eyes. It’s the intimacy that puts me in a trance, makes everything disappear.
I need to know these things, but I doubt you’ll ever tell me. And I doubt I’ll ever build up the courage to tell you what I feel, what I think.
Sometimes I imagine you do what I do.
I imagine you lie in your bed, at 11 o’clock, when a lot of people are asleep, and you staring up at your ceiling, thinking about me. About conversations we’ve had and ones you wish would happen. About the things you like about me, love about me.

I do all of these things. I remember the things that remind me of you and smile when I think of them. Either that, or I crawl up in a ball because of the pain you make me feel. I create scenes in my head, different ways of you telling me you feel the same, whether it’s by you telling me everything you like about me, or you telling me straight out that you love me, with the rain pouring around us, or you taking my face in your hands and kissing me so softly but passionately I can almost feel it on my own lips.

I see you everyday. It hurts me, it bruises me, and it makes me feel like I can’t handle it. But then the next day I still hope we talk again, and when we do, I continue to fall, faster and harder, all the while knowing I’m just going to hit solid ground.