ℜ𝔬𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔠𝔦𝔰𝔪

ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔣𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫

It was a gracious August with a lot of sunshine.

There was summer wind against my hair as I sat,

wondering if I liked you.

"How could you tell you like someone?"

 "You can feel it."

I felt something too 

every time I thought of you.