He was a poet, a romantic. He was the type of boy that you fall in love with the moment you see him spin around the doorway, see him stumble around in a fake intoxication, see him play basketball when you could never imagine him doing a sport. He was the type of boy that you watch from across the room as he beat boxes to himself, or sings The Cure to himself, or writes lyrical chaos in his notebook labeled “ENTROPY”. He was the type of boy that you sat down and laughed with as you watched your computer screen with the star and the heart, or decided why people would choose “Snapple” over “trite”. He was the type of boy that you wouldn’t mind telling you were writing down memories so you wouldn’t forget them, or that you are totally consumed by him. It didn’t matter if he thought you were bizarre because he made you feel like it was what he loved most. He had the ability to stare through your eyes, to make you melt inside because no one else could do that to you. When the rest of the world was decaying before you, he could still make you smile and think that it would all turn out good in the end. He made you want to do everything for him to try and make him happy even though it would never happen. He made you believe that there was a reason for everything. He made you believe that there was love after you had given up on all of those who had broken your heart so many times before. He made you believe that he would never abandon you, that he would never hurt you, that he would always be there for you, that he loved you. He was the type of boy that even after months of separation still made you want to believe that it all happened for a reason, that it would all be okay in the end. He was the type of boy that even after months of separation still made you want to believe that he never meant to abandon you, that he never meant to hurt you, that he still wanted to be there for you, that he still loved you. He was the type of boy that even after months of separation still consumed your every thought, still made you cry. He was a liar, an egotist. He was a poet, a romantic. He was the boy I was in love with.