𝕙𝕖𝕣

𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜

Her cheeks are so round, so adorably full and puffy. The way I imagine they flush a cute blush pink is enough to make me smile in the midst of my algebra class.

I often think of how soft they are. Just to have them in my hands. Cup her cute, round face in my palms and stare into the galaxy she's stolen in those eyes.

I like to think someday I'll be able to hold her tight, hug her, cuddle her, kiss her.
Her cheeks pull together this perfection that is my love and my adoration.

Often I daydream about her cheeks. How squishy they'd be, how satisfying to have them between my fingers. The adorable face she'd make as I pinch her cheeks like an old, cheery grandmother.

It's terrible to think that she doesn't see what I see. She doesn't see the beauty, the perfection, the complete awe in her being and every time this fact comes to my mind, it fractures a bit of me.

The fact that she's been broken down and trained to think of herself negatively, to beat herself up over her personality and appearance makes me want to wrap her up in a safety bubble and keep her from the evil people of this earth, it makes me so badly want to protect her and keep her to myself, take her as my own.

She makes me go crazy like this. Something I know only few people to do to me. My heart reacts in a way that is almost completely new.

Her cheeks were one of the reasons I fell in love with her.