Alexithymia: Inability to express emotion in words.
'Lily?'
'Mm.'
But there's a way Lily's red-gold tresses are strewn like autumn leaves over James's chest, and exactly how her pale, speckled shoulder is bare under his hand and her arm is thrown over his hip, and these are things that can never be put into coherent sentences and explained in a way that won't make James blush and Lily put her hand over his mouth.
'Lily?'
'Mm?'
But her fine-boned hand hangs from her elegant wrist in a feminine algorithm that James spends hours attempting to justify, watching Lily's ridiculously beautiful pulse flutter in her ridiculously beautiful neck, and finally gives it up as something he will never understand, and can only admire in the sweet, strong light that the sun lends to his silent adolescent struggle.
'Lily?'
'Mmm.'
The dust motes dance a lazy spinning minuet over Lily's skin.
'Nothing.'
