The most beautiful smile I ever saw was when I was eleven. I saw the way
his eyes creased at the end when he smiled, the way his dimples stood out.
Now that I'm older I notice every part of his face. The way his lips curl up when he's grinning. The way his eyes twinkle, and the deep bags under his eyes become more prominent. I see his tongue barely stick out of the side of his goofy lopsided grin, his almost-perfect teeth.
He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. His brown curly hair, his beautiful forest green eyes, his soft looking nose, and hard jawline.
And his tattoos. Oh how I love his tattoos. The way each of them have their own meaning, and the way he is so vehement about them.
I love him. I love the way he can cheer me up by just smiling. I love how he is so passionate about music, his music. I love every single thing he does.
But he doesn't love me. He doesn't know who I am, he doesn't know that I love every single aspect about him.
He will never love me, he will never know who I am, and he will never know that I love every single aspect about him.
