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I will always associate you with the feeling of rushed adrenaline, pumping through my entire system.
What's silly was that it would be the default of me dealing with you regardless of the intensity that changes every now and then. We could just be talking about life and society in general, or we could be deep in conversation about you and me (which only happened every blue moon cause you always avoided that for very obvious reasons) — every word, every gesture, the feeling would linger, always.
The hold you have against me is crazy. We all thought you'd be a chapter I closed the second I walked out, or you walked out — two separate occasion only us knew the difference — but it surprised everyone that it is still there. You could be meters away across the room, and the single sweep of your eyes scanning everyone's until they meet mine would still get my blood pumping and my cheeks rosed — if that's even a word, but we both know it is when it comes to me with you.
Every words coming out of you would be the death of me. From you saying that I never failed to amaze you with my silly idealism thoughts, to you just checking up on me to ask if everything's okay and that it's okay if they're not. All sentences, all phrases, each letter rings the same, still shoots jolts and shivers down my spine when it comes to you, when it comes from you, because God knows what kind of spell you put on me.
"I often find myself wondering how you feel about me," you said, though I know you know precisely what I was going to say.