In the midst of my travels, my mind wonders back to that of a boy. It’s a sign that my feelings are real when I begin to question myself, becoming ridiculously insecure. Unwinding, coming undone. I nearly forgotten what these feelings felt like. The insecurity – why would someone like him like me? I’m not the hipster chic with rockin’ style; rather the do-gooder with smothering raw honest emotion. It’s the small things that make me flutter too: when he laughs at me – the hardest when I’m not even funny. Asking me about my family, encouraging me when I’m excited about something. Squeezing the back of my neck or the gentle pat on top of my head when I’ve said something idiotically cute. That trip-over-your-feet-and-bump-into-things-nervousness because I’m so attracted to him. It took me a long time to become honest with these feelings and now that they’ve surfaced I’ve lost composure, like some silly lust-struck girl.