You give me butterflies,
When you play your guitar like that.
Fingers gently plucking each string, reminiscent of some folk song you played in your car once,
Your brow furrowed in a delicate confusion.
I will never understand why I feel the way I do.
We don’t talk much anymore, but that doesn’t mean this infatuation has dimmed in the slightest,
It’s heavy on my mind.
Your eyes, your hands,
The way you tilt your face downward when you smile because she once made a comment on your teeth,
It’s unique.
Just like the way you make me feel.
I don’t want this feeling to go,
It makes me feel alive.
If you feel the same let me know.

—By Maya T., 17, Sydney, Australia