I didn’t want to fall in love with the way she smiled, I didn’t want to fall in love with her laugh; I didn’t want to fall in love with the way she said my name or the nicknames she gave me.

I didn’t want to fall in love with the way she saw the world, how everyone had a story to tell. I didn’t want to fall in love with the books she loved or the meaning behind each one. I didn’t want to fall in love with how she appreciated small things that I did for her. I didn’t want to fall in love with the way she moved her hair back over her ear when she was reading. I didn’t want to fall in love with the way she would touch my arm when I said something funny. I didn’t want to fall in love with how hard it was to say goodbye.

I didn’t want to fall in love when I saw her dance alone. I didn’t want to fall in love when she forced me to dance with her. I didn’t want to fall in love when we took car rides and she would choose the music. I didn’t want to fall in love with the way she would eat my desert, but still offer me some of hers. I didn’t want to fall in love with the way she would cried at a sad movie. I didn’t want to fall in love when she would light up because her favorite song was playing in her favorite spot in her favorite town. I didn’t want to fall in love when she got the news about her Dad. I didn’t want to fall in love when I held her as she wept.

I didn’t want to fall in love. Yet, I did.”

— The Novel of Us (via blissfulbeardsdoitbest)

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