I held her close, gazing at her graceful face. Her soft eyelashes beat against her rosy cheeks. Her freckles like stars and constellations in the night sky. Her lips looked soft and were so, so close. A part of me felt drawn to them. Felt like they were calling me somehow. My chest was burning and beating as my fingers run through her hair. She was so beautiful, I felt like I could die for her. Sure enough, she looked up at me again, her eyes shimmering in the moon and starlight. It was like her eyes grew bright when she felt like this, near me. I've never felt this before, but even so, I knew exactly what this feeling was. There was no questioning it. It was just like the stories my parents passed down. When I felt her feelings along with mine, with her eyes, her cheeks, freckles, her soft hair that had been through so much, the small scratches and bruises, all made me feel so happy, sad, and scared. A perfect storm of emotions.
"I," she paused, her voice sounding so hurt, scared, but gentle, "I think I like you," she stopped again, it seemed like she was embarrassed and looked away, her face red, "Like you, a lot. I've never felt like this, but you seem to feel the same way. Please, just keep holding me longer." Her face dug into my chest with embarrassment. I kissed her head.
She took her head out of my chest and, with cheeks as red as roses, kissed my chest. As if she knew. She knew about it. I didn't tell anyone, yet she knew. My deepest secret.