I like you.

I like that you are short. I like that you wear those red converse low-tops, scuffed across the toes. I like that you play lacrosse. I like that your hair is always messy but I can’t tell if you mean for it to look that way. I like that you are not afraid of religion and you are nice to your little brother. I like that you don’t ever care what anybody thinks of you – I like that you do what you want. I like that you listen to old music and don’t wear designer jeans and I like the way you smile.

But I don’t know you. I don’t know your sense of humor or your dreams or your past. I have no ownership over you, no reason for jealousy. But I am jealous for you. I shouldn’t be, but I am. Because even though I really don’t know you, I want to.

I am short too. I don’t wear red shoes or play a sport, and my hair is never messy if I can help it. Sometimes I am afraid of religion and I care way too much about what others think. But I like old music just like you. I like to sing and get good grades and I like to make people laugh.

And I especially like the idea of you and me together.