No it wasn't love. Love was supposed to be fun and warm. This, this felt like he was drowning without her. Drowning was neither fun nor warm.
It wasn't that he loved her- or anything
It wasn't a big deal. It's fine. It is fine, right? That sometimes it felt like she was what made life so...so lovely. So vivid. So beautiful.
but he liked her
God he did. He really did. Even when she was being so annoying and all he wanted her to do was just shut up for a second, just one second so he could hear his own thoughts.
But even back then he had been grateful for that chatter, deep inside, because the chatter would have filled the roaring emptiness, that was now his mind.
she was pretty
But it wasn't just that. Sure, she was cute and pretty -most girls are.
It's just the longer he knew her, the more beautiful she became, the more the way he liked her strong nose, the way the sight of her hair made him relax or how her eyes made him feel safe.
The more her physical appearance became her personality. And god, she was stunning. Even if it was just him that could see her, could see what she really looked like.
and a good sport
That's what he said to his mate as he tried to drink until everything was a blur, maybe then her face would become a blur too, hopefully.
The word felt vile on his tongue but he said it anyways, it felt wrong to try to define her by just one word.
She was more like a book, filled with scrawling writing; some parts in ancient runes he could't understand; others careful handwritten pages for his eyes only.
And yet even a book had an end, no she was like trying to define infinity. It would take far too long so no one dared to even try. But they all admired her as anyways.
A few days later, someone said to him, "Young love burns so bright but at the end of the day, it doesn't mean much."
He just laughed,
It wasn't like he was in love with her or anything