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"I like you."
"I like you too."
"I like you lots."
"I like you lots too."
"I don't like the other L word."
"Me either. Let's just like each other a whole lot."
Very childish. Simple. But it worked for us.
Laying in my bed next to you was all I could ever ask for. It was what i waited for every day; the highlight to my every tomorrow.
As simple as that. Breathing, dreaming, being; all better with you laying by my side.
We were young, we were naive. Too young to understand what love was about, yet we felt every bit of it as it soaked into our souls.
Mind swimming in the land between awake and asleep, I could hear your voice; like a dream in its' own, filling my head with your sweet lullaby.
You didn't like the word Love. It was too complicated; got wrapped around your tongue like peanutbutter, when you tried to use it.
Yet as I slipped from reality, I clearly remember being pulled securely into your warm chest, and a whispered "I love you."
I never remember actually deciding that I loved you. It seemed like a forgotten subject.
Foolish, unrealistic; something the modern world had surely grown out of; Love.
Rather, it was Time I fell in love with.
Being with you made my time easier, and I grew so used to you being at my side.
Laughter, Happiness, Smiles, Contentment.
All of which filled my days.
Made my heart feel as if it was singing.
A joyous tune, that no man would understand, 'less they knew the story of the peculiar boy I found myself occupying my time with.
Much less the one I never Imagined I would fall for.
A tramp; in every sense of the word. A boy with a travler's heart; that of a gypsy.
This was you, though I never could find the downside to it.
How many times had you been uprooted, torn from yet place after place, until it was decided that Fate would allow you to be found here?
Here. Where was Here? Was it in the small house of which we spent hours telling and re-telling each other the stories of our lives, or was it where you had carried my heart off to; fourty five minutes away from me?
I never really understood fully where Paragon was. Yes, I knew it was a po- dunk town, fourty five minutes from Lizton. But what did it look like? Was it just as mine?
Quiet and quant, that was lizton. Where the biggest thing to happen was always the Fish Fry in August.
Dairy bar, post office, small market, town hall, ball park, three churches, and a hundred or so houses.
You didn't like it here. There was noone to visit. No where to go but the park.
And so we made our own entertainment. We created our own series of events.
My favorite of our stories, always being that of manga on a blanket, in the unusual Mid April sun.
How long ago had we layed -your chest to my back- on that light blue blanket, covered in bright white stars, to read a yellow spined book? A story of how it came to be that The King Of Devils fell in love with an Angel.
Or pherhaps my favored memory was sitting cross legged in your lap, while you showed me characters from stories set in places that had names I had never heard of.
It seemed like such a lifetime ago that these things occured.
Your company had seized, and I was left waiting, in possesion of a shirt, filled with your scent, for summer to come to an end.
Ninety days should never haved seemed so minicing. Yet in the eyes of a fourteen year old, brown eyed girl, who dreamt more often than she should have, the situation seemed forever long.
So here I am today, still waiting for summer to end. No matter how our stories finish, I will always look fondly back on you and wonder..
"Can The King Of Devils really fall in love with an Angel?"