You give me so little to go on to get obsessed with you, but part of me is really really trying to increase my obsession. It’s starting to hurt so bad.
I picture you looking down, reading my notes I gave you to read: one of the very few times I have been able to look at you. It felt safe to look because I knew you had to look down to read.
I picture your style of shoes that you always wear, and the loud sound they make when you walk. I like that I can hear you in that way. I can listen out for it.
I picture your perfect salon nails, and how perfect you seem.
I wonder what your handwriting is like. I really want to know.
I just want to be able to watch you and for you to not know I’m watching. I’m such a creep