Song: Stone // Alessia Cara
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He watched her intently as she sat in a desk chair on the opposite side of the room, scribbling away in her notebook, as the snow continued to fall outside. Every time he caught her writing, he often wondered what it was that she was writing about. He never asked, and she simply never told him.
"What are you writing about?" He asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.
"You can see it when I'm done." She smirked and continued writing; her eyes too focused on the words on the page, to meet his curious gaze.
After ten minutes, she got up from the chair and joined him on their bed, handing her journal to him. He immediately flipped to the first page and didn't stop reading the pages after that. He was infatuated and intrigued by her writing; he loved it.
His eyes sparkled and smile widened when he stopped on an entry titled "Him..."
"Just the thought of him infatuates me. He never fails to amuse and amaze me. He's honestly extraordinary; a work of art. A beautiful piece of fine architecture if I'm honest.
And every time I think about him, I can't help but smile. It's because I'm in love with him I guess. I'm in love with the way he makes me feel - whole, giddy, warm, happy. I'n in love with his existence - without him, where would I be?
And honestly, he drives me crazy and he frustrates me but I can't picture life without him. The very mention of his name makes my emotions run wild. And why? I'm not sure. I'm guessing that's how you feel when you're in love.
The most extraordinary thing is the way he makes me feel like I'm something, when I feel like I'm nothing. The way he's managed to squeeze into my life, and turn my world upside down.
How I know he's the one for me is that my feelings for him, tie to music. That's when I realized I was in love with him. Because I love him the exact same way I love music.
What's funny about all of this is, I can't imagine my future without him being apart of it. That's how you feel when you're in love I guess."
His eyes lock with her's as he pulls her close to him. "Is this about me?" He asks. She nods and smiles, reading her own words on the page. "How come you never told me you wrote poetry?"
She shrugs and rests her head on his shoulder. "It simply never occurred to me to tell you. I just knew I needed a hobby; a talent to pass the time." She explained. "You had music and so I needed something; I found writing. Look at what a beautiful mixture that is."