Carl Grimes Imagines

Imagine 41

(Y/N)'S P.O.V.

Dear Diary,

Why did I not kill myself today?

Because he smiled at me.

Boys-well, particularly Carl-are so infuriating. I mean, no, he didn't technically do anything, but the way he smiles at me is physically painful. The area around his bright, ocean blue eyes crinkles when he flashes his bright, radiant smile. I say it hurts me, but yet his smile is the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning. The thought of girls who aren't me recieving that smile makes my stomach sick. It's one of those things you want to keep a secret, but at the same time everyone needs to see it for their life to be complete. I probably sound delusional, but that's just love for you. It'll make you sound crazy. 

Diary, what is the definition of love? Isn't it a feeling of affection? If so, hasn't everyone been in love at least once? Let me describe love to you from my eyes. Love is the feeling I get when he smiles at me. Love is the butterflies in my stomach when he brushes past me in a crowded room. Love is wanting nothing more than to be the reason he smiles. Diary, love is just a word until you find someone to give it a definition. 

"Hey," Carl says, picking up the basket of washed clothes sitting beside me. In less than a few seconds, he's walking off.

"Hey babe."

Did I really?

Carl turns around slowly, a confused smile on his face. 

I really did. 

"Babe?"

"Yeah. . . I call everyone babe! You know, like how British people do in movies," I smile, praying my neck isn't getting blotchy.

"I've never heard you call anyone babe," Carl pops out his hip, propping the basket on it.

"It's a new thing."

"Ah, I see," Carl says, starting to walk away. "I'll see you later, babe."

♦︎♦︎♦︎

Yes, I know it's short, but you'll be getting two updates in one day!