You're there on that screen and I just want to watch you. I could, for hours on end. Your hands, with your long fingers, and your hair - eighteen years old and perfectly formed.

I just want to wear that dressing gown, now. I want to wrap myself in it and smell you on it. I want to hold you and stroke your cheekbones and tilt my head to one side and kiss you.

I smile when you smile. And when you don't, I just look at you. Because you're beautiful.

Just, so - are there any words for this feeling? Like a mixture of tenderness and longing and pride and contentment and a deep sense that this is real, and that I want more than anything to spend my whole life making you happy. You're constantly in my thoughts. Constantly.

'Love' seems to inane, but I suppose I'll have to go with it. I love you. I love you. I love you.