Why "My friend, Alis" is a death sentence for my heart

Me: "You're the literal devil."

You: "I highly doubt that."

I don't.

Who else could tempt me this much?

Your eyes are as green as innocence, but what's behind them is anything but. 

I find that kind of thrilling.

Hearing us talk, I don't think anyone would guess that you're a bishop's kid.

Have you noticed that I'm comfortable enough with you that I'll snapchat you even after I've taken off my makeup?

If that ain't love, then I don't know what love is.

You always smell really good, by the way.

That probably shouldn't be important, but everyone knows it is.

I know you've said you love me before.

I know I've said it back.

I just don't know if you've ever meant it the way I have.

It's usually more of an, "er lurve yer" than an "I love you,"

But I mean it.

I mean it as much as I've ever meant anything else.

I mean it like I mean to break my own heart, because I'm sure that's all that I'll get out of this.

I mean it as much as when I say that a broken heart means nothing to me anymore.

I mean it as much as when I tell myself that it'll never work.

I mean it as much as when I say I'm willing to try.

I think we would be the most awkward couple of anything ever and the world wouldn't be ready for us, but we would be ready for the world.

When we were taking those pictures, 

flowers on my wrist and on your coat,

me almost as tall as you in my heels (but not quite), 

still laughing about the fact that you wore brown socks with your tuxedo,

we held hands and looked into each other's eyes.

As I watched the forest and you watched the sea,

I saw love.

Maybe not the right kind, but still.

I'd give anything to see that more often.

--Alis