#whichever one I'm looking at is definitely the prettiest one

[followthebluebell]

Ok I think he might be the prettiest ragdoll.

[kuunibal]

Fucking hell, you're still gorgeous. Prettiest thing I've ever seen. You smile when I take you to an ice cream parlor, cute mouth breaking into a wide, white grin so big that your eyes narrow with it. I'm lucky to see it and even luckier to have been the one to put it there. Your voice is beautiful too, smooth and light like a clear pane of glass while you decide which flavour to choose. I promise I'm listening, darling, I just can't help but look at you. Not that you notice me staring anymore, you're too busy thinking about him. But it's been too long since I've seen you this happy, since I've seen and heard you in general.

You pick whichever is the pink (Of course, that's my girl. You remain remarkably unchanged in certain ways over the years and drastically different in others) and take a bite before offering me a spoonful to try, not noticing or caring about the indirect kiss (I will, however, ruminate over the carefree gesture and hold it close to my heart until I die). I have to bend my head down and gently guide your hand higher to take it, which is most definitely not an excuse to touch you, however briefly. It's creamy and fruity without being artificial: sweet, but not overly so. Even sweeter is how you're still beaming when you ask for my thoughts (It's delicious- just how I imagine you'd taste if I turned you into a dessert). I swear I honest-to-God swoon at how effervescent you look, glowing like a star and as breezy as a butterfly with a bright smile warmer than the summer sun on my face. Perfect, perfect thing.

You still have a smudge of ice cream right on the upper edge of your lip, and I ache to tilt your chin up to kiss it off you, sweetheart. A few years ago, I would have. And I did. But I can't anymore, so I say nothing and content myself with the pure, unadulterated joy on your face and the candid photos I take with your head thrown back in laughter and the ice cream rapidly melting in your hand.

My love (because it appears I unwittingly love you still, enough to feel a stab of longing while writing this). A few hours with you is worth more than a lifetime of summers without you. I wish to remember you like this forever: blissfully happy and smelling like honey with sweetness on your lips.