This is the first line I'll write about you.

I never thought I'd ever be here right now, putting my feelings about you on this word bank. A year ago, we met, and a year ago, you were far from being the very core of my dreams. But look at me now, and look at you. Look at how different things are between us.

There you sit, unaware of the distance between us, of the space I quietly despise. I curl my fingers when the urge to run them through your messy tousled hair hits me with the force of an oncoming train - urgent, sudden, showing no signs of stopping. And then you smile, that bright, hazy light rising its way up to your eyes, filling my stomach with butterflies, warming a seat in the stadium of my heart. This sense of ease that you so effortlessly bring to me unveils thousands of questions in my sleepless mind: Do you know? Do you even notice?

And then I find myself daydreaming. What if you do know? What if you do feel this way too? What then? Will I ever find the courage to tell you as you sit there, unknowingly making me fall in love again?