Written by Winona Wardwell
Art by Pengwhan
To the girl that gave me a hug after I lost my race, and the one who put milky ways in my locker on my birthday, I like you. I mean I like you like sand is drawn into crashing waves, like it was inevitable for me to love you. No I am sorry, I mean like you. Because I just like you, I do not feel drawn to you like the gravitational pull, we learned that in Physics together. But maybe I do love you, and maybe I love your bright auburn hair that is always tangled, or your constant need for perfection that has always secretly made me jealous. And maybe when I see you I feel like I am tilting towards you like sunflowers tilt towards the sun, because sometimes, I feel like you are my sun.
I do not know where to begin when explaining to you how I knew my feelings towards you had changed. Because it did not hit me like a tidal wave: I did not need to sit down and process. It was just like I was breathing. Maybe I never saw you as anything except a lover.
This all sounds melodramatic, and the me a year ago would be cringing because I never thought that the things I would be writing about were the things that everyone writes about. But I met you. And suddenly I understand why so much of literature is filled with love. It is all consuming, it always seems to ends in promises or disasters.