Anxiety seems to weave itself around my heart, every Monday Wednesday and Friday, after my literature class, when I wait for her outside and we walk to Keezell Hall and have a cigarette together. We talk about life, about people, about all sorts of things. I love learning about who she is and what she thinks, and when I lose focus on what she is telling me it’s only because I’m distracted by the thought of putting my arm around her or kissing her goodbye before she goes to her last class. Her eyes are this beautiful hue of green, like jade, and her lips look soft and gentle. She has shit to say. She’s real. She makes me nervous, like I want to say the right thing but at the same time she makes me feel so comfortable and at peace when hear her voice. I wish I could blow her away, and I want her to want me like I want her. I wish I could tell her, but I can’t and I don’t know if I will ever get the chance to.