Him

It’s always him. It’s never been any other way, as long as I can remember. Because when someone asks me about myself, the first thing I’ve always said was his name, or his eyes, or his heart. The way his feet would slightly turn in as he walked towards me, or his famously crooked smile were always thoughts in the forefront on my mind, and the nostalgia that washes over my entire being every time I think of him (which is almost constantly, I’m afraid) is almost too much to handle sometimes.