I really did. I've never stared across the long dinner table for that long. Just to look at you, and I looked away whenever I thought you've noticed me. I sat with my shoulders all puffed up, trying to look nonchalant, confident. Hoping that you felt like I did for you. Nothing much, nothing else, but a small liking, just from your looks, style, and a smile or two I got the chance to glance at. We only got to talk a few times. When we walked across each other in the hallway, you stuck your tongue out and made a silly face. I made a silly face back. You hoorayed and hugged me lightly and said, "that's great, you and I share similar sense of humor." I couldn't talk to you, for some reason. You were the first person in a long, long time that I felt like I liked- not attracted to, but liked genuinely. Then you disappeared, and I fell asleep, and it was night time. The next day we left Richmond, and you would've laughed if I told you that my heart felt so marshmellow for the first time in a while. Looking back, the value of the memory is greater than the price of not having talked to you way longer. It stays as perfect as it is. You were that person, like that person I remember seeing in the subway many years ago, and could not stop staring at. Thanks, it was great seeing you, and if I see you again, I promise I'll talk to you about all the things in the world, and hear everything that you have to say about it.


Mothagesso.