My chest falls as I exhale, and I jam my hands into my pockets because my fingers twitch with an urge I haven’t felt since I’m not sure when. I want to touch her. I want to feel her soft, creamy skin under my palms. I want to taste that bee-stung pout that’s constantly slicked in a different shade every time I see her. I want to gather a fistful of her hair as I press her against the wall and graze my lips against hers. And in an irrational flicker of a second, I want to know what it might be like to love her so hard, it physically hurts.
