You give me heart palpitations when you brush your hair away from your face. Your pale face, brushed with red and small brown freckles, your small lips, and almond eyes. Your smile makes my head spin.

I notice everything you do—your bright grins, your hesitant smiles. You’re so shy. I notice how loudly you talk about nothing and the look of panic in your eyes as someone new approaches. How you rub your nose to stop yourself from crying, and how you tap your fingers when you’re freaking out: thumb to forefinger, thumb to middle finger, thumb to ring finger, thumb to pinky, then back, an endless rhythm.

Whenever you say you love me, I feel faint. My mind is traveling so fast and all I can think is that this girl, this wonderful girl, feels the same way about me as I do about her.

I don’t have strong arms, but they become even more fragile when I wrap them around you. You cry so much, and I want it to stop but I know it’s what you need. I’m honored to be the one who holds you.

I don’t think it’s crazy that your emotions change quickly. You feel everything more deeply than I ever will. Every joy and sorrow is multiplied tenfold and it overwhelms your mind and your soul and you can’t contain it all. You are simultaneously the most joyful and morose person in a room.

I know that you’re afraid of depending on people. I know that you’re afraid of getting hurt. I want you to know that when you wake up at 3 AM convinced that everyone hates you, I do not. I cannot.

I love when you sing with your serious voice, all I want to do is rush up to you and kiss you—but I never want you to stop singing. I love the way you walk, as though you are constantly dancing. The way that you chatter excitedly about your passions. The way that you twist your hands together because you don’t know what to do with them.

Sometimes all you want is silence. Sometimes even the smallest whisper makes your toes curl against your will. I don’t mind. I love the way you go from loud to quiet. I understand that sometimes it feels as though everything in the world is crashing down on you, and you’ll wake up in the middle of the night and rearrange the whole house because you don’t feel right.

I love your sensitivity. I know that there are times when all you want is for me to rub my hands up and down your small arms. I love the feeling of your delicate fingers on my shoulders.

I love you so much it hurts. My chest feels as though it will burst and my arms and legs are sore, but I am so happy, so utterly happy. I wish there was a word stronger than love, or infatuation or any other form of affection—that would be the way I feel.

I am so happy that we are together. I am so happy that you love me. I am so happy that we are both doing the things we love. You are not mine, we are each other’s.

—By Eden E., 15, New Zealand