He doesn’t like me. I mean yes, sure, we talk practically every day and it is ridiculous not to smile when he texts me. I get fascinated with the thought he’s been waiting until 4 pm for me to wake up, just because I’m a late sleeper. It is impossible for me to deny the fact that I enjoy his company to a point it consumes me. I love how when he says something nice, the words settle in my heart like there was a particular place kept only for them. I am happy when people say he mentioned me in a conversation because it makes me feel like I’m being remembered. I hate the knot I get in my stomach when I unintentionally upset him for some reason that is completely irrelevant. I can’t stand the thought of him having similar conversations with other girls. I adore how he knows the exact time to say something so small yet so meaningful to me. But no, he doesn’t like me. And you are thinking: You don’t know that. But that’s the thing, if he did I would know, and I never want to wonder.