Dan Howell fell in love at twelve years old.
It sounds pretty ridiculous. Falling in love at twelve years old is close to the line of "impossible". Mainly because majority of our twelve years olds don't even know what love is. They assume they love someone because they think they're nice, pretty or hot. That's not love. But Dan among me and his family knew he was experiencing love. Just not with a person. No, he's not some creepy guy who fell in love with his cat, he fell in love with the sky.
I don't mean that every night he looks up at the sky, winks at it and gives it a cheeky smirk saying, "Damn sky. You look hot tonight." I mean he lays his against the damp grass that tickles his feet, turns his head to smile at me and says, "Phil, do you see the sky tonight? It's really pretty. Look at all the pinks, oranges, yellows and red that swarm around the horizon. And look, above us. Purple, blue and teal. And the clouds! They're so fluffy and they're coloured pastel yellow or pink. I can't believe how beautiful it is." Then continues to gaze and smile at it for many minutes until the stars are on full show.
I didn't understand it. To me, the sky was the same nearly every night. Sure, there were some pretty colours but that's all it was. A canvas that's been messily splattered with paint. It's nothing we haven't seen before.
But Dan seems to love it. And he still does, nearly five years later, at sixteen years old, only a couple days before his birthday. The sky was the best thing to him, and he'd always drag me out to the patchy grass outside our lawn to watch the sunset or sunrise.
And I'd easily allow him to do that. Because although it's repetitive, seeing the large smile on my best friends face is worth it.
— that was terrible oops ?
