I remember you

I remember how you looked standing there in the black fleece sweater that was yours. Sometimes you’d roll the sleeves up too, and push your glasses up your face. If you couldn’t hear someone, you’d lean down slightly, and in your concentration, a small, unnoticed lock of hair would separate and just fall down right in front of your forehead. I thought you were beautiful and that no one else must have been seeing it because no one was looking at you the way I was looking at you. Your eyes were so hypnotising I couldn’t allow myself to be put into a trance by them, and my eyes constantly danced between yours and the wall, the air, your hands. You were so kind to your friends and you were so funny. I felt that you trusted me, and it was wonderful. No one had ever looked out for me like you did and I thought it meant something significant between us, that I had these effects on you, but it was all you. It was just the person you were. It was impossible for anyone there to dislike you because you were so kind and charismatic for no reason other than to be. It was like all you cared about were the people around you. I loved it. Maybe I even loved you in some way back then. You were simply like no one I had ever met before, and that still stands today.