I love him.
Not in the sense of him as a physical person, or even just the thought of him, but him as in him. All of him. Every single bit of his imagination, his brain capacity, his laugh, his crooked smile, the way he talks, his jokes, the way he looks at things with such a compassion and a care, every detail and secret and mystery and movement about him.
I dare not look at him too long, for if I do, he might see inside me- all my secrets, my thoughts, my feelings.
Then he might not love me back.
But his smile is like a warm sunshine on a cold day, his touch a roof to one who has no home.
And the way he looks at me, the way he smiles when I smile, the way he laughs with such a calm happiness; I know.
I know that he loves me too.
