“Alright, I get it,” he said quietly.
“But that’s just it,” she whispered, the tears streaming down her face. “You don’t get it. You’ll never really understand. You’ll never know that feeling I get when I see you. That feeling that my heart is in my throat; I can’t talk or breathe. That my cheeks are the brightest shade of pink. You’ll never know how much it makes my day every single time you talk to me. You’re the very first thought I have when I wake up in the morning and the last one before I fall asleep. I can’t concentrate on anything anymore, and it’s your fault. Because wherever the important things in my brain are supposed to go is filled up with you. Everything is filled up with you. You consume me. I just can’t help it. You’re literally my everything. So, no. You don’t understand. You’ll never ‘get it’. Never.”
“I do get it,” he replied, meeting her eyes with a fearless gaze. “Because that all happens to me every time I see you.”