But then he disturbs your peace with his gesture of kindness and his adorable mumbling. Your heart stumbles once, twice, more. Its beating never regains its pace; not in his presence, anyway.
(your smile is wide, too wide, but it doesn't feel foreign on your lips.)
You want to laugh; you want to comfort him and tell him hey, it's okay. You can breathe.
You find yourself agreeing to seeing him again.
(Why? Why did you? You would never--)
But his smile is so bright and pure and boy, you feel like you've just made the best decision of your life.
You watch him greet you with a smile and a wave; he's setting a rhythm and you can't help but follow.
He tells you about his parents, and how they're stupid in love, and how the right girl for him is just around, waiting--
And then he gives you this look and breath slowly escapes your lungs and your world tilts as you realize--
Where'd you come from? you ask out loud, and he gives you another tender look and replies with, I've always been here.
He says your name like it's the most precious word out there. Like it's his lifeblood and air.
And you think, this... this is what love feels like.
It escapes definition, he says, and you believe because what you're feeling right now isn't logical, isn't familiar, isn't something you can accurately describe, let alone name--
Since the day I met you.
And you think of all the years, months, moments in between your elementary school days and this week and felt bereft because, god. This feeling. That there is someone out there who can complete you, make your life more vibrant and worthwhile just by existing--
I've always been here, Iris.
And you think now, now, so are you.