Hey babe.

I know you don't know this (or even if you do) well... you're smokin' hot. You make my stomach feel weird when you're around like I just ate the spiciest Mexican or there's some sort of fluttering critter in the gut of my tum.

Your hair reminds me of waves of chocolate, streaming from Willy Wonka's factory itself. Elite. Glorious. Voluptuous.

Your eyes are deep seas hiding curious idiosyncrasies I'd very much like to become accustom to.

The clothes you wear make me think I'm in some sort of dream. I mean it's like you shop for me 'cause everything you pull out from your drawer is wickedly attractive. But then again, you could be wearing a garbage bag and I'd still think you were the hottest of them all—thank you Snow White.

You piss me off in just the right ways. Not enough to truly ever be mad... yet. Yet enough to get under my skin and stay there, shacking up your frustrating wit within my bones.

What's even worse? I don't want this. I don't want my heart to feel girly and fluttery and whimsical. I don't want to fall helpless to your corny jokes and (decently) sharp wit. I don't want to smile when I see that crooked smirk creep across your face. I don't want to know you because perhaps you are special, and I don't know if I'm ready for someone special yet.

I suppose I like you. I suppose I think about you and wish that sometimes you were there to see little things, the little moments. I suppose you're another candidate for my heartbreak, and I suppose, if I'm being honest, I don't know if I have enough will power to fend off your charm.

I wish I could be more skeptical, less of a romantic. Because I think if I didn't believe in people so much I would be a lot less goo-like and weak in the knees when guys like you show up in my life.

So cheers to you, as the new year is right around the corner. My crush that will inevitably fizzle or spark. Here's to your initial 10-point rating, I hope you humanize soon before my heart undergoes some sort of unfortunate rupture.

XO,

Hopeless