I Want My Money Back.

He's the perfect height.

Everytime he holds me close, it's the first thing I think to myself.

I could stand there with my head in the crook of his neck and his arms closed around me for an eternity.

He has the softest, most holdable hands I've ever held.

They're always warm, and never fail to calm me down when he rubs slow circles on my back.

I love how he picks my hand up and puts it in his so casually when I fall into step beside him.

I like that he laughs at all my jokes, even the stupid ones.

I like how my long winded inconsequential rants about everything entertain him and make him laugh, really laugh, enough to double over clutching his stomach.

I like how he looks at me with amused affection when he thinks I'm not paying attention.

And Lord, his eyes. He has beautiful eyes. Deep brown, almost black.

I drank it all in as I stood on the sidewalk, sucking on a Cadbury's chocolate bar, my eyes wide. And you. Grinning back at me, standing on the road and waiting expectantly for me to follow you.

And in that moment, I think I loved you.

Could'a, Would'a, Should'a been.

And yet...We're not.