Chicago and Breadsticks

Sitting next to you is like breathing in the fresh ocean air as the waves kiss the Downtown Chicago shore.

It's like coming home after a long while and smelling your mom's sweet potato casserole, dying to have more.

Feeling your embrace is like feeling the breathtaking sun on your inviting skin after a long, cold winter.

It's like sipping a caramel white chocolate cup of coffee, my new favorite, so sweet you forget that it's bitter.

Looking at you is like gazing upon an ordinary painting, but you admire more and more each time you see it.

It's like hearing your best friend's voice on the phone after ages and feeling as if you're sitting right beside them.

Listening to you talk is like seeing your favorite band live, feeling so content it's as if you're in a dream.

It's like driving at night with the windows down, favorite song blaring so loud you can't hear yourself sing.

Seeing your smile is like wearing your favorite outfit, feeling so invincible nothing can ruin your day.

It's like eating the breadsticks at Olive Garden, so warm and inviting, might as well make it a buffet. 

But sitting next to you scares me. 

Feeling your embrace is almost bittersweet

because I know I'll miss you when you leave,

and that's not what I want to be.

Looking at you makes my stomach hurt.

Listening to you talk makes me inert

because I want whatever this is to work,

and yet my heart wants to invert. 

But seeing your smile makes it worthwhile.

I could walk away, not look back for miles,

but the sky's beauty will make me tire

because I'll be running right into my very own fire. 

Sitting next to you is like breathing in the fresh ocean air as the waves kiss the Downtown Chicago shore.

It's like reading your favorite book over and over, as if it's memorized, and all you want to know is more. 

Author's Note

This is what I call infatuation, my dear friends.