He wanted to. He really wanted to. The urge to tell her how he wanted to draw her in his arms and steal her breath away with the most poetic of soul-searing kisses was potent. He wanted to tell her he had never set his eyes on a more fascinating person, not only was she symmetrically pleasing to the eye but her mind was a breathtaking vista of knowledge and intellect. He wanted to tell her he felt spiritually connected to her ideals and her aura was magnetic in its colourful force. He wanted to tell her her ass was made for the steel of his hand, her hand was meant to fit into his, her piercing eyes did terrible things to his insides, his eyes were fixated, unequivocally, with her. He wanted to tell her he wanted to get right into the crux of her and sew his volition to hers.
But how he could say all these things without sounding completely whipped?
How could he tell her everything he wanted to tell her with sombre honesty and not cringe at the cheesiness of it all?
Running his hand through his hair, he decided to throw caution to the wind and just tell her. Just pluck up every ounce of courage and put himself out there.
And so when he saw her next, he walked up to her and said, “Hi,” and that was all that need be said. Everything else was weighted therein.