Everything

xviii.

"Tell me about you."

"Ryan..."

"Come on, Addison. We've been friends for a while now..."

"I just..."She stopped. "Ryan, you know I'm not anything special." He pictured her blushing. He'd never seen blushing of course, but apparently it was when your cheeks flushed and, as Addison had told him, turned red. He felt his own face heating up.

"But you are," he blurted out. Part of him was urging himself to go on, but the other part was berating himself for putting that out there.

Well, there it was, irrevocable.

She sighed. "I just don't know...I don't like to talk about me..."

He sat up, turning toward where he knew she was. He searched on the blankets for her hand, until he found it, and took it within his own. "Let me tell you how I see you," he said. She started to protest, but he held up his hand, stopping her.

"You are all the colors in one, Addison. You have a laugh that is yellow, and beautiful...ringing and clear. You have a voice like how you describe blue: calming. But it's also how you describe white...pure. And it's warm, like brown. Hazel maybe? Like honey, soft and sweet. You're red when you're excited, or when you're passionate about something."

He hurried onward, because he was afraid that if he stopped, he'd never get the courage to keep on going.

"And let me tell you how you feel. Your hair is soft, like silk, and it makes me almost crazy when it brushes against my arm when you lay on the blanket next to me or lean your head against me when we're sitting on the bench. Your hands are soft too, but with one little rough spot on the ring finger of your right hand, where you hold the pen when you write.

"You smell like flowers; I guess it must be whatever shampoo or perfume you use. Like lilacs, or roses, I'm not really sure. I don't really know the difference between many of the flowers." She laughed softly. He pressed on. "I don't know what you look like, really, but I know what you feel like, and you feel good. You feel right. You feel like the best thing that's ever happened to me."

He felt like she must be only inches from him. He held his breath for a mere moment, before exhaling and rushing onward.

"You feel like warmth, and like joy, and like kindness and everything good. And you make me feel love, like a different love than I've ever felt, different from friends, different from parents...good different.

"I don't know what the sun looks like, Addison, but I know what it feels like. Warmth, and happiness, and all things cheerful and good. And you feel like that. I know this is the silliest confession you've ever heard, because you probably expected that anyone who came around to confessing their love to you would have working eyes and would actually know what you looked like, but this is all I have. And if you don't feel the same, I'll drop it. I'll never bring it up again. But tell me, Addison, because I have to know. Could you...could you ever feel the same way about me?"