Blabbing about a crush

Blabbing about a crush

If he ever let me, I’d get a little too close. Just close enough for our shoulders to touch, maybe even the backs of our hands. Close enough that maybe my fingers brushing against his knuckles, his shoulder, his thigh, wouldn’t be so unreasonable. And if he let me get that close, I’d probably push my luck, just a little more, and press my palm to his skin. Not hard, just enough to feel his pulse, to know if his heart is beating as fast as mine. And if it was? I’d push my luck again, just a little more. I’d lean in close, just close enough to hear his breath, maybe even a little closer. He’d be so warm, his chest against mine. I’d press in real close, just to feel his breath on my skin.
I want to know his smell. I want him to know mine. I want to leave things soaked in my perfume around his desk, to mark his space with my strawberry scent. I wish I was engrained in his brain, like he is in mine, so that maybe he’ll think of me next time he reaches for something sweet, just like I do when I breathe in the scent of forest pine.
I know his face by heart, by now I know it better than my own. I could draw him in the dark at this point, from the ridge of his nose to the curve of his lips, which I'm sure are so so soft. I study him like I study my books. Just as I search the stars for God's secrets, I search his eyes for answers to the questions I'm too afraid to ask. I remember the way his eyes wrinkle when he smiles and laughs that beautiful laugh of his. Oh, I could listen to him laugh all day, with that smooth voice of his that makes me shiver.
I love when he takes his hair down, and I get to watch his golden brown waves cascading over his shoulders, framing his handsome face. I want to touch it, I want to bury my face in it as he holds me with his strong hands. The hands that lift the too-heavy burdens from mine and gently guides me. I wish he'd reach for me with those hands. I wish he would hold my hand, my shoulder, my thigh... I wish he'd place his palm on my skin and feel how fast my heart is beating. And if he ever does hold me like I wish he would, I hope his pulse is racing just like mine.
Chances are, me and him will only know each other for a short while more, and then we'll part ways. I mean, we have no reason to see each other outside of this place. He's planning on going somewhere far away, where I'll probably never go. I fear that cold January evening will be the final day I'll know him. That day will be dreary and disheartening, and I'll never smell that same forest pine scent without his face popping into my mind.