I know why I love you

Jess

I know why I love her. She is beautiful; everything about her is incredibly, almost painfully beautiful.

I love her because she's gorgeous, she's funny, she's smart, she's clever, and she is kind and good. But everyone knows all of these things. I love her for the things that made her beautiful to me personally.

I love how much she loves books, how much she adores the written word, she sees the same beauty in it as I do. I love how she can spout out quotations from really complex books as easily as she can from the million and one films and shows that her and her mother watch together. I love how she lights up when she gets a new book, the childish excitement as she opens the cover and just falls into someone else's world making it her own.

I love how she blushes and looks down when I imply something. I love how I can make her grin just by smiling at her. I love how when she walks into a room everything is suddenly bigger, brighter, better…

I love her more than anything in my life. I love that as soon as I wrote a book I knew that she was the reason. I love that I knew I was going to dedicate it to her. Only her. I love that she loved me, that she believed in me, that she was kind to me, she was my friend.

I hate that I ruined it all. I hated seeing her with men who didn't appreciate her as she deserved to be. I hate that every second of the day I remember her and love her even more and know I don't deserve her. I love that I can't hate her even though every time she walked away my heart broke into a thousand pieces. I love that I don't hate being so cheesy when I think of her, that I smile when I remember her.

I love that she has changed me. I love that she has made me who I am. I love that I will never forget her.

Ever.

Rory

I know why I love him. I love because to me he is everything.

I love him because he is funnier and cleverer than anyone I know. I love that he can make me think, that he is never the same, that I can fall into conversation with him so easily.

I love how he carried a book around in his back pocket, I loved how he walked around with his nose buried in a book never looking up except for me. I loved that I was the only one who he would stop for. I love that I remember every second we spent together.

When he first walked into my room and stared at my books. When he took one of them and put little notes in the margins for me, his thoughts and feelings, he was always so honest and open in margins. When he gave me the umbrella, because he thought it would make me smile, I did. When he ran to help me turn off the sprinklers, I loved that I though he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen with his hair sopping wet, falling into his eyes, his book in his back pocket drenched with water, and how he turned them back on for me, because he knew I was worried, no matter how he felt. When he told me he loved me, simply and honestly with no big plans or shows of affection, he just looked at me and said three words that I knew were the hardest words for him to say. When he dedicated his book to me, his soul.

I hate that sometimes I want to hate him. But mostly all I feel is love. I live on memories and hopes. When I fall asleep it is his smile, his deep eyes that are my last thoughts, every night without fail.

I love that a part of me will never stop hoping to see him, to talk to him. Because I will never forget him. He has been burnt into my heart.

Forever.