.e.l.b.i.l.o.v.e.y.o.u.
9:37 a.m.

As sweet as sugar and as fuzzy as a peach.

I think about you a lot, you know? And it worries me. Because I know you don't think about me, as much as I think about you. When we're on the phone, I think maybe you're dying to hang up. I love your freckled smile, and, even though you must be the most naive person I've ever met, it doesn't bother me. Not even a little bit.

I probably like you a lot more than I should. Hm.

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