One would argue that loving him was not an uncommon thing, and this would not be untrue. However, everyone would have their own reasons for doing so.
Somebody would tell you that it is all about those dazzling brown eyes of his, the ones that make you want to look at them for ever, and not look away. They have been called the windows to his soul on countless occasions by numerous admirers, however, I disagree. I think the rightful entry to his soul could be gained only when one paid any attention to him.
He would go stiff if something made him uncomfortable, and he would fiddle enormously with his long fingers when agitated, tapping them or wringing them. He would run his hands through his hair when flustered, and the top of his ears turned red if he felt too hot.
And his eyelashes. So long. When his eyes would close, they would fan out, and it would take a great deal of effort to stop yourself from wondering if he ever felt them touching his skin, if they ever tickled him.
The creases at the corner of his eyes, giving testimony to the fact that he was one who loved smiling. And his smile, oh his smile.
People would rave on and on about that beautiful smile, and that handsome face. When he smiled, it was like all of your troubles melted away. The way he smiled. The way his eyes lit up when smiled, you just wished that he kept smiling for evermore.
His laugh. Oh, such a fun laugh. It was lively, and extremely infectious. You couldn’t help but join in, even though there was nothing very funny to laugh at.
The way his hands felt. They only confirmed what you already knew, that he was strong and was confident being in his own skin. They held you firmly, and yet, so delicately. As if he were afraid of hurting you.
And his words.
He always knew the right thing to say, yet never said what I truly wanted to hear. I’m sure he was no stranger to what I felt for him, but he never gave any indication of the fact.
Simply, the way he made me feel.