In moments of solitude like this, thoughts of you fill my mind. Perhaps it's the way your laughter echoes, your radiant smile, or the when your eyes light up. It might be your articulate way of expressing yourself and sharing your thoughts. I really don't know. I just like spending time with you and seeing you happy and lively. We've moved beyond an era where mere longing suffices unless reciprocated. This time feels more serene and authentic. I recall reading in my eighth-grade textbook that true love blooms when one is genuinely content, in contrast to fleeting infatuation, which fizzles out after a brief eagerness and excitement. I'm hesitant to declare love; it feels premature. I sense the possibility, perhaps only now recognizing it, though it may seem overdue. You gave me butterflies in the stomach that even when you're not around yet, I could tell you're coming. You made me palpitate when I don't even drink coffee, and I like it. I like that you make me feel. It made me so human and gullible like a highschool lovestruck girl, and it's funny, and I like you.
