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there was no denying that you were my favourite out of anyone i ever acquaintated myself with. in a crowd, you stand out the most. not just because of your broad shoulders or your pleasant face, but because of the warmth and happiness i experience at catching you amongst others.
death glares that you would give to others fell to breath-taking smiles when your gaze rested on me, and every single time you did, i felt special.
it was unusual; the way you made me feel: like it was so wrong, yet so right. i wish that i could tell you about the affection that bursts throughout my entire body whenever i spot you. i wish that i could tell you how good you looked any other day. i wish that i could tell you that you made me happy.
yet, i could never remember what you love to eat, wear, or drink. over and over again, i would mistake your love for coffee for tea.
over, over, and over again, i would forget — and i keep wishing that my brain could make an exception.
