Love

I want to fall in love with a girl named Emily. Her family and friends call her Em, I call her Emily.

She has pale, fair skin. A few freckles on her face. She grew up hating her freckles. I want to softly kiss each one of them.

She has tattoos. Not a lot, but more than a couple. 

She can't dance well, but she enjoys it and laughs at herself when she does. 

She doesn't wear makeup, not much anyway. Maybe a little something around the eyes. To make them pop. Or a brightly colored lipstick. 

She's very kind. Almost too welcoming, warm. She anticipates the needs of others. It's just in her nature.

She thinks I'm clever and often crass. She looks at me in my eyes when I'm talking to other people. I make her smile. She wonders what I think even though I want to tell her everything.

She knows she's not ugly. I love to look at her.  She's so beautiful. She's never not beautiful. She's bashful about her body. I have dreams about the feel of her skin on my fingertips.

The first time I ever see her is at a bookstore, even though I never go to bookstores. She is reading some nonfiction under a dim light. Beside her is a small end table with creamy coffee in an oversized mug. A pair of cheap earbuds is plugged into her phone. She doesn't notice me, but I notice her. I occasionally look over to her, trying to silently will her to look up so maybe she'll politely smile at me.

I see her again at a friend's work party some months later. We finally meet that night. I don't recognize her from the bookstore, yet she entrances me.

We make each other laugh. We hold hands. We argue and forgive each other. We fall more in love every day.