The Brown Eyed Dreamer

'Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.' William Wordsworth


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Him.

I like his hands. I like putting my hands against his and we gasp at how much bigger his fingers are than mine. I like it when we play wrestle, and his fingers wrap around mine.

I like his hair. I like to run my fingers through it and play with it. I like it when he leans against me and the smell of his hair sinks into my clothes and I feel like he’s a part of me.

I like his eyes. They’re blue green, with flecks of gold that show up in the sunlight. I like the way they crease when he laughs and light up like a thousand stars when he smiles.

I like his smile too, and his laugh. He sometimes lets out a small chuckle, other times laugh so hard that almost no sound comes out. And all the while he’s smiling that gorgeous smile, and when it’s directed at me I can’t help but go weak at the knees.