You’re not in love.

You’re not in love because being in love with him is dangerous and stupid and reckless. You’re not in love because that’s not what you do, or who you are. You’re not in love but,

sometimes,

he fucking smiles at you just like that and you realize that you don’t see him smiling enough but every time you do it’s like the clouds are parting and making way for the sun and you’ve never seen anything so fucking beautiful

in your entire life. You’re not in love and you don’t tell him that but, sometimes, it must show anyway because he reaches out for you without thinking twice about the weight of his hand on your arm and without fear that you’ll pull away. You’re not in love.

(That never fooled him anyway.)