Eventually you get your first apartment. I admit it to myself I want to come over every day, but I know it's unlikely to happen. You're busy living. Socializing, partying. Things to do, places to see, plenty of other girls to hang out with.
How can I try to see you more without you discovering I have this terrible wonderful crush on you? I know! I have a crush on your roommate. Sure, that's it. A good excuse.
This is ridiculous.
You're interested in my creativity and, for me, this means you're also interested in my heart and how I see the world. The more you compliment me on my sweetness, the more generous and kind I want to become, and it is this lovely upward cycle.
But I am a closed flower, unsure of how and when to open without getting burnt by the sun. I sense you're trying to help me with this, but neither of us has gotten the secret. Or should I say the secret has not yet gotten us? Sometimes it feels like we're getting closer.
This will all become memories for me. The kind that get tucked in deep where they stay protected, no matter how fierce the storm of madness.