During the summer, there was a girl. I, however, was not responsible for anything that happened between us. She was the one who would talk about wanting to kiss me. She was the one who asked if I liked her. She was the one who curled into my side when we watched movies. My relationship with her didn't last—whether it existed at all could be debated—but the effect that it has on me endures. Maybe if it had lasted longer, I would have learnt her confidence.
I could use it. I wish I had the courage to break this social protocol I constructed in my head and ask you to tea for me and whatever you want for you. Or the guts to take your phone and scare it with my selfies. Or maybe the insanity to reach for your hand.
I promise I won't propose anything rash. We don't have to become a promise-ring-wearing, take-on-the-world-because-we-won't-fall duo. I'm not sure I'd want that. But what would be wrong with laying on the grass during the summer and alternating between reading excerpts of e.e.cummings and sharing bad puns? I know damn well that by now you've figured out that I'm secretly a romantic, but I have a suspicion that you are, too.
But the one thing about two shy introverts is that nothing will ever happen if fate doesn't shove them together.
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