• Those three words described us. How our eyes would search the room for each other and how we constantly find ourselves yearning to be next to one another. It's not infatuation, I'm sure. If it is, then this must be another kind of the said desire, it must be one that clings onto a person's heart until it becomes one with it.

    But nothing has been said. No words of such feelings were exchanged, no such denials or confirmations have been forwarded to one another. Why? We don't know. The prospect of losing such a wonderful feeling to an inevitable end seemed less appealing than preserving this flaring emotion that draws us to one another. Surely, one could disagree and state that relationships would mean something so much more.

    No. This is our secret. The secret that everyone knows and whispers about. I will surely wait until the last grain of sand hits the bottom of the hourglass, if it means that those eyes will only look at me.

    Such simple gestures stir the butterflies awake in my stomach, beckoning them with a rhythm of a rapidly beating heart. And when our hands touch, I find myself unable to breathe evenly, if at all normally. If on that day, these ebony locks had covered the nervousness dancing on my homely features, I must have dumbly whispered the words I've wanted to say.

    These lines, I must admit, are mere exaggerations of what I feel. If at all they provide any accuracy, I must say they are close by mere centimeters.

    Where are we now?

    Surely there are no absolute answers if those eyes have yet to only look at me. This uncertainty leaves me vulnerable to this apathetic rival, feeling inferiority permeate my thoughts when I see her. Should I be this miserable? This pitiful? This pathetic? If I am to be left on a waiting list, I wish to say that I've found myself in a less-than-advantageous position, but my feelings scold me for such. But is it not logical? For something so great to be easily, if at all, replaced by something not-as-great, something far weaker, far more vulnerable, far less capable. Even then, I would feel this default victory was not mine, nothing but something nurtured on a false assumption.

    But those insecurities must come off as foolish and simple excuses to my inability to speak. What is his, then?

    If we must skip those negligent flaws, this looks to be the beginning of something... I don't know.

    Those three words described us. How our eyes would search the room for each other and how we constantly find ourselves yearning to be next to one another. For something more do these words speak ever-so quietly, secretly, and lovingly.