the things i should've told you.

the first thing i should've told you.

I should've told you how wonderful your smile was, the first time we met. I should've told you how infectious your laughter was. Maybe I should've also said how lovely your eyes were. That even when it was snowing outside, I could see the sun in your eyes.

But perhaps that would've been too much for someone, a stranger, to say to someone else, also a stranger.

But then you said your name, and you were no longer a stranger.

Your name, I say it now, feels smooth and clean like honey. It's a great name, I think. It's quite possible that your name just became my favorite name ever. I think of all the ways to say it, and try to think of times when I can say your name.

I couldn't say it then, of course. That would've been creepy.

But I'd say it when I was telling my friends all about the boy that I met. I might say it in passing to my mom or dad. I could say your name to my drama teacher, fellow theatre geek that you are.

But then again, I might keep it to myself. Because while I love the sound of your name, I don't want to share.

Oh.

Oh.

Now you're saying my name. You're saying my name and it falls from your lips as though you've been saying it all your life. I'd like for you to say it all your life.

I feel like I'm trying much too hard to impress you. My cheeks are red, my smile wide and bright. But the look in your eyes shows that you know that it's not real.

Your eyes are on me, watching me as though I am something to be studied. Normally I'd tell anyone watching me like that to get away from me or I'd get a restraining order. But coming from you, it's different. It's not cold and calculating, it's warm.

Oh.

Now you're asking for my number, and I can feel my heart jump into my throat. I can't do anything but nod as you hand me your phone.

I can hear my friends' giggles. I can feel their gazes resting on the back of my head as I clumsily type in my information. I'm so nervous that I keep messing up, and it's not as though I have fat sausage fingers.

When the digits are finally in, I had you back the phone, and look up shyly to see a bright smile on your face that could put the sun to shame. You're looking down at your phone, as though in disbelief.

Then, I have to go. My friend is tugging on my hand, telling me that we need to go, or we're going to be late.

I go to leave, but right before I walk out the door, I look back.

You're smiling at me.

My cheeks colored a fire red as I quickly ducked my head, following my friends. They're squealing and gossiping about the fact that I, Miss Independent, got a boy's number.

They're calling me a frigid prude, as always, but they're right. I almost never get numbers. I'm barely out of my room, actually.

They're calling me a prude and exclaiming about how weird this is and that the world must be ending.

But I can only think about your smile, and that I should've told you how wonderful it was.