It took me a while to admit to myself and, even longer, to her that I was falling for her. Eventually I admit to myself, then her. Our first date we never touched, although we spent hours talking and laughing in that little coffee shop. We loved listening to the stories the other had to tell. I miss the times when we would walk through a small forest on a beaten path in her village along a stream.
Golden-brown leaves falling in the reflection of the glimpse of her eyes as I glance at her beauty. We both wanted to hold hands but she couldn't manage to do it and I knew she didn't like being touched, so neither of us did, but we continued to walk as she told stories of how she played in the woods with her friends when she was younger. Then hardly weeks later that same girl that didn’t like to be touched falling asleep on my shoulder at a 007 movie at the back of the theater.
You could tell that short time had changed her. The not long after that same girl told me she loved me for the first time on a bus, coincidentally right after the first time our lips met, softly. We then spent a week in a magical kingdom, waltzed in the midst of Italy, kissed under fireworks over a lake and shared ice cream. Oh, how I miss that girl. Oh, how I love that girl.
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