i stg if you don't talk to me before the end of the year i will revolt. your annoyance at my (correct) opinion of you (that you are beautiful) is only fuel to my fire. hold my g-ddamn hand and call me pretty. laugh at my stupid jokes like you used to. where's the smile that met my gaze at the library that rainy february day? where are you and who is this sad man in your place? i don't know if you know this, but it's been you since you held the door for me and laughed at my dumb joke. it's been you, and it's not my fault i want to hold your hand so fucking badly, you've pulled me in and held my heart in your hands for far too long for this to mean anything without you. where did you go, blue eyed boy?
