I was staring at him again. I'd been trying to stop, telling myself it was weird and creepy to stare admirably at someone his age. But I couldn't help myself. He was captivating. Everything about him screamed "happy." I yearned for the days when I was that happy, carefree, and young.
He was passing a puck across the floor with his friends, one of them happening to be my younger brother. I caught a glimpse of his bubbly brown eyes. His friend said something that made him laugh and he smiled that one of a kind bright smile that I loved.
He wasn't even twelve years old yet. And there I was, fifteen years, old, watching him from a bench across the room like a shy little girl. There was something about him that made me feel like a kid again. Maybe it was his playful personality, oozing with joy and recklessness. Maybe I was intrigued by how easy going his love seemed. Maybe it was his crooked toothed grin that made me blush every time.
I couldn't quite put my finger on it. He was the definition of a good time. I praised all those childish qualities he perfected that I no longer had. I longed for the memories I had let go many years ago.
I watched him pass the ball with his hockey stick. He looked so content in that moment. He didn't show the smallest sign of worry. He was a kid after all. Just a young, carefree, energized kid. A kid that I unwillingly bestowed feelings for deep inside my chest.
As I stood up from the bench I took one last look at him. He saw me and stopped passing the ball for a second. He smiled at me and waved. His dimples made his cheeks rise until they nearly touched his eyes. I smiled sheepishly and waved back at him. I promised myself at that moment that I would tell him, whether it be in five, ten, or fifteen years. I would tell him I loved him.
I would wait forever for him.
He was passing a puck across the floor with his friends, one of them happening to be my younger brother. I caught a glimpse of his bubbly brown eyes. His friend said something that made him laugh and he smiled that one of a kind bright smile that I loved.
He wasn't even twelve years old yet. And there I was, fifteen years, old, watching him from a bench across the room like a shy little girl. There was something about him that made me feel like a kid again. Maybe it was his playful personality, oozing with joy and recklessness. Maybe I was intrigued by how easy going his love seemed. Maybe it was his crooked toothed grin that made me blush every time.
I couldn't quite put my finger on it. He was the definition of a good time. I praised all those childish qualities he perfected that I no longer had. I longed for the memories I had let go many years ago.
I watched him pass the ball with his hockey stick. He looked so content in that moment. He didn't show the smallest sign of worry. He was a kid after all. Just a young, carefree, energized kid. A kid that I unwillingly bestowed feelings for deep inside my chest.
As I stood up from the bench I took one last look at him. He saw me and stopped passing the ball for a second. He smiled at me and waved. His dimples made his cheeks rise until they nearly touched his eyes. I smiled sheepishly and waved back at him. I promised myself at that moment that I would tell him, whether it be in five, ten, or fifteen years. I would tell him I loved him.
I would wait forever for him.
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