Homework.

Homework. 


It’s definitely what I’m doing right now. I’m not going to think about how small this pencil is and how his fingers would fit so perfectly inbetween them, nor am I thinking about how perfect we’d be together. I can’t help but look over at him and smile at his chesnut brown hair that just looks oh so soft, and how I’d love to run my fingers through it and he’d smile into our kiss and I’d smile back. 


Wait! Homework. I am doing homework, I am not thinking about him. I am not going to think about him.I’m not going to think about how my fingers are clenching this pencil.  I’m not going to think about his muscles. I’m not going to think about the way he holds me in his arms when I ask for a hug and I’m definitely not going to think about how great it’d be for him to hold me like that in bed. 


Homework. Back to the fucking homework. The pen writes so smoothly on this piece of paper and I can only remember how smoothly he walks, with a bounce in his walk as he throws back his head and laughs at something his friend said but I don’t really know what his friend said because all I can hear is his deep laughter and watch his adorable dimple pop out against his cheeks.  He doesn’t know how crazy he drives me with everything, the way he smells, his tenor voice or the way his hair shines under the sunlight.


 Er- What was I doing? Homework. Right, That’s what I was doing. Multiply this shit by that shit and get 2 … 2, Perfect two. That’d be us. Us 2. Just us 2 and it’d be great and you better bet your money that if that 2 ever turned into 3, someone is going to get punched in the face.


Oh god, I can’t stop thinking about him. I can’t stop thinking about what we could be. He’s essential. He’s like water, Only I need him more than 8 times a day. He’s my everything.


… Fucking homework.