The first i-love-you is a special one. It must be told at the perfect time, a memorable moment. Perhaps a night when you're walking down the beach, with the water at your feet, as he does a little violin performance just for you. Perhaps one day when you're crying over something and he doesn't know how else to cheer you up. Maybe he'll hold you tight and refuse to let go until you stop crying. You wait for the perfect moment, hold yourself back till then. Don't waste it on an exam day. Don't waste it on yet another lonely night.
Then another typical day comes along, one hot day after school, and you're in the bus with him on the way to the library, just another typical study afternoon. Tired from all the stress. You put your head on his shoulder, and you feel his arm slide around you. You feel his hand cupping your face, tentatively, shyly. He slowly traces your jawline, his fingers on your cheek. Delicate, you feel like a delicate doll surrounded by his warmth. The intensity, the tragedy of love, all in the traces of his fingers.
The bus makes a turn and the glare of the sun hits you. The sun, mighty, life-giving but so alone; it's jealous of you, jealous that you have someone else to share life with. He puts his hand over your eyes, a shade. Don't let it disturb your rest, now. You feel the heaviness of his palm against your eyelids, the warmth of his promise.
"I love you."
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