It seems like every time he prays for someone, something unfortunate happens to them.
He thinks of you more than he’s thought of anyone else.
He forgets everything he’s ever done with you.
He’s completely forgotten how you met.
He called you beautiful and meant it before anyone else even thought it.
He’s more than likely the first person who’s ever wanted to kiss you.
That’s a good word.
Your birthday is one of the few things he remembers, much to your surprise.
He’s genuinely excited for you and the pursuit of your amazing, musical dreams.
He gets butterflies when you appreciate his unfathomably sweet words. He does, not you. The butterflies are in his stomach, not yours.
He so desperately wants to know how your life is going, how you’ve been.
When he’s near death, more than ever does he think about you.
You are amazing.
He’s willing to write you a poem for very narrowly missing your birthday.
It’s a shame you’d only spent so little time together before he left.
He’s changed so much since then–he’s grown a couple inches.
You miss him.
‘I love you’ took more than four years for him to say and now it’s a customary [butterfly-inducing] salutation.
December 16th couldn’t get here faster.