Normal people.

How beautiful it is to love something that will never be yours, like walking in the rain, knowing you'll catch a cold.

He was different, unlike anyone I'd ever met—a silent, shy, and sweet soul. I gazed at him each time he looked away, whispering to myself, as Connell said to Marianne, "I'm not a religious person, but I sometimes believe God made you for me."

Yes, to keep me alive on my darkest days, to make me feel cherished, to touch me like a blessing, to hear me like no other, to love selflessly, hopelessly, without expecting a thing in return. I looked at you as I once did at city lights and the night sky, pondering how deep my love ran, unable to stop smiling.

I cherished those moments when you became talkative around me, a rarity with others, and wondered, "Perhaps that's normal?" "It's not," my heart replied.

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