His soft, blonde hair flows through my fingers like water as I play with it. He doesn’t mind as long as it’s not gelled and he’s not going anywhere.
His brown eyes swim over my profile as he gazes at me. He thinks I’m unaware. When I call him on it, he graces me with his perfect, beautiful smile. That sight is like sunshine on my rainy day. Just the sight of him is like seeing a rainbow after a long storm. His skin is tanned and beautiful, much darker than my too pale pigment. We laugh as we compare the different contrasts given to us by the sun and ancestors.
His voluminous laugh echoes in my ears long after I’m done tickling him. It’s sweet music; I never want it to end, so I tickle him more.
The tickle fight always ends in gasps and whispers. OH! His whispers, more musical then his laugh, for they really tickle my ears. He doesn’t even have to laugh or whisper, just his voice sends pure light into my heart. It fills me with joy.
But he doesn’t have to speak for me to hear his voice. I can hear him when he’s not near me. I hear the long dead conversations we have over the day and night. In my dreams his voice calls to me as if he was lying next to me. Such a beautiful voice he was blessed with. And I blessed to hear it.
When he hugs me, I can feel his warmth radiating through his clothes. His tight embrace always leaves me breathless. The feelings of security follow me as I walk away from him and in his absence. I love the feeling of his large hand engulfing my tiny one. I may be much shorter and smaller than he, but that is so I will mold perfectly to his form. When we do come together in a much too short hug, I feel as if I’m cloud nine. His muscular back under my hands and his taut stomach against mine, no words can describe how right he feels against me. We both wish we’d be able to never let go, but we must hurry to class before the bell.
In those tight embraces, my face is pressed against his chest and I can smell his subtle cologne and the underlying scent of laundry soap. His smell is embedded in my memory and when I’m doing laundry at home and the familiar scent rides the air and pours into my nostrils. A slight smile comes across my face and I hum a soft, little tune.
In the quick kisses he and I share, I can taste the gum he is oft-chewing. A hint of mint, I think to myself. In the longer kisses we less often share, though I do wish for more, the minty taste of his gum is overpowered by a sweetness unlike any other. It is sweeter than any cookie, candy, or cake. Sweeter than pure sugar itself, I fear I’ll become diabetic before long.
The boy you’ve read about in this too mushy paper is Jimmy, my little piece of Heaven.