He loves me.
Oh, no. No, no, no.
He is looking for a response.
Well, I love his exterior. His strong arms, his muscular legs, his lean stomach, his dazzling eyes, and his disarming smile.
I love his boyish charm, his whimsical idealism, and his unconditional kindness.
I love the words he writes, the sentences he constructs, the message he creates.
I love that he thinks I'm beautiful, and I love how beautiful he is. Young, spirited, and unassuming.
I love the way he reminds me of my husband, twenty-five years ago.
Oh, what would his mother say?
We're doomed.