Today I saw my love. She is ten times more beautiful than the last time I saw her. She grew her smooth, hazel-streaked hair, and changed her hairstyle. I don't know what changed exactly; I never was knowledgeable about women's hairstyles and I was too mesmerized to notice. What I do know is that it fits her so well like a tiara would on her head. She changed her perfume, too; it's more fragrant but less strong; the kind of smell that's gentle and sweet.
I wanted to hug her so badly, but I have to honor her words and refrain from doing so. I do wish I could've talked to her longer and accompanied her home, but I am a friend, not a full-time lover. (I won't say "I am just a friend"; I treasure our friendship more than gold.)
I know I love her but I can't be with her. Yet I can't stop, because I love her and I cannot do otherwise. Here's to a year of daily death and confusion.
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