My feelings for the girl wearing my sweatshirt are hard to describe. I want to know her. A growing need to be closer to her harbors inside of me, and in my deepest thoughts I can relate it to the way the sun beats down on her golden head of hair; so close, so fragile. I want to radiate her. Dancing in my stomach occurs when I see any smile light up her face, and the two dimples on each side of her lips add character to her complex personality.

She is caffeine.

Drugged to a lovesick fool; there is nothing less I want. For her green eyes to penetrate through my carefully built wall of hidden secrets, and to witness her pale skin burn a deep red when I am standing so close are hidden desires. She's a mystery to be around, and yet the more I am around her, the less of a mystery we become.

She is hard to comprehend.

Her words slur together when she's nervous, and the sentences produced rarely mean anything coherent. Her hypnotizing irises say it all. The rain loves her, and she loves to dance in the rain. I love to watch the way she dances in the rain; throwing her head back in a carefree expression of pure ecstasy. When her eyes close, I am all she can see and hear. When I close my eyes, she is all I can taste.

Her smell lingers.

Fresh pine needles and vanilla scents her hair and skin, but the smell is only skin-deep. Truly, she is mine. Truly, she is no one but who she chooses to be. Her whispers get lost in the thick atmosphere engulfing us, and I strain to hear them. I can't hear them. How can I hear them? How will I ever hear them?

She is love.

I know everything about the girl wearing my sweatshirt. Moods that never stay tame, and eyes that grow wild when someone defies her way of life. The way her face grows deep in concentration when she feeds her passion makes the butterflies in my stomach do the Tango in delight. I know she fears me, and what we could become. I want to take a chance, but I fear her too.

I know everything about the girl wearing my sweatshirt, but I still need to know her.