I'm not one for love stories and I've settled with the fact that I'll probably grow to be an independent, hard-working nurse, with a bunch of neices and nephews that I can coo over then pass them to their mother, then go home to my wine and TV shows.
Then all of that changed.
All my life I've been surrounded by amazing friends, and I am so grateful for that. I have friends that understand me, love me, and know me for who I am. We're snapchatting through the pain of empty boxes of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, daddy issues, and realizing that this party wasn't such a good idea. Also, the joys of "do you want my leftover ice cream?", coming home, and showing up at eachother doorsteps with Cinnamon Toast Crunch boxes and a pirated version of It (2017) where Bill Denborough stutters in Russain.
Thats what friendship is, all my friendships.
It didn't occur to me that I saw him differently, not until I realized my palms were sweatier than normal and my heart was beating a little faster. When he called me pretty and I smiled myself to sleep that night, verses if one of my other friends did it I would've said "i'm not buying you food".
When I used to dream a rainbow of colors but now the only thing I can see is a preposessing brown with flicks of black and sparkles that illuminate the orbs of his eyes-- its so blinding sometimes I can't look.
So what do I do?
My friends tell me to go for it, to spill everything I feel because he feels the exact same way. But I don't. My comfort zone lies in the pixels that formulate the pictures we send eachother on snapchat, in the smiles that seal so much more than just laughter from across the table, in screaming the lyrics to Frank Ocean and Beyonce voices so loud they overwhelm the voices in my head that tell me to kiss him.
It's in all the things I do with my friends.
I don't know if I'm ready to handle feelings this strong. Because I've only known crushes on seniors and the boy at the Christmas tree lot that I see once a year. I've never adored another person like I adore him. Where every moment we spend together is wrapped in gold and warming my soul, its the feeling I want to know forever. But I'm so scared.
Because I'll miss being his friend.
I'm not one for love stories and I've settled with the fact that I'll probably grow to be an independent, hard-working nurse, with a bunch of neices and nephews that I can coo over then pass them to their mother, then go home to my wine and TV shows. But in another reality I'm holding hands with a man who has the most beautiful brown eyes, wrapped in gold and warm.
I'll figure out what to do later, but now I'm going to keep dreaming, smiling into the cotton of my pillow case and living in this lovey, dreamy, daze.
God, is it blissful?
