It hurt to look at her.
Not in a bad way, but in an emotional way. In a way that you could feel it deep down in your stomach, like her pretty face was kicking you in the stomach and spitting in your face and reminding you that, no, you can’t have her, because she’s too perfect for this earth, let alone you.
I turned back around and settled into my seat, content with the fact that I’d never get to hold her or run my hands through her hair or kiss her cheek or snuggle into her shoulder.
Damn straight girls.
