Love love love

Ah, why bother? Love is a bitch. Hand in hand with life. A hard-core sonofabitch. It's almost pointless. But the emotional roller coaster is too hard to resist. Why would I want a boyfriend then? Well, I like him and all, a lot, A LOT, more than anyone else who may like him, I know, because I get that feeling, that special feeling. Aye, you wouldn't understand. No one understands.
Because I'm feeling in one of those wishy-washy moods, I'm going to tell you about him. Mine as well.
Tristan is his name. Known him since 6th grade, first time I laid eyes on him he was stuffing his face with cotton candy. I'll never forget that. My first site of the guy I would eventually be dating. Not that I thought he was a weirdo or anything, but he is pretty weird. No such thing as normal. He's fun to make laugh, and is enjoyable to tickle, and gives a-m-a-z-i-n-g massages. Supportive, funny, fun to talk to, and all around great personality. He's in love with photography, and takes pictures of everything. The sky, the ground, the sun, me, a tree, a bug, a person walking by, and basically anything that passes within his field of vision. He has one of those $350 professional cameras that take really high-detail and amazing pictures (he's shown me a lot of his pictures, they're really nice). I can talk to him about a lot of stuff...basically...anything. Never short of words. Unless neither of us are in the mood. Then maybe we'll lay down, me with my head on his chest, and look at the clouds. He's got really nice eyes, green-blue, like mine, except with a hint more emerald color to them. I love how he looks at me sometimes. I love it. Love love love it. I love his hair too. It's adorable. I want to play with it all the time. Just a bit lighter than mine, in a too-cute mushroom hair cut that cuts right above his eyebrows. He's muscular, works out, and says he has an eight-pack. We'll find out about that. I admit that I love it when he sweats because his hair is all messed up and pushed back to reveal more of his face, and his cheeks all red like he's blushing. It looks....hot. I think so. I just...love him. He's the first guy to call me beautiful. Hell, my dad hasn't even said that. It shows he has more of a sensitive side too, instead of a just rock-hard heart. I hate guys like that. I love guys like him, but him most of all. I also love his laugh. It makes me smile. His smile is great too....he's great. And I'm not over-exaggerating, normally girls get all googly-eyed over one guy, saying he's great, when he turns out to be a cold-hearted bastard. I know Tristan isn't like that. I know for sure.
Today we had this conversation...I was feeling a bit low..because a friend has been giving me a hard time, and it was Tuesdays. I hate Tuesdays.
Me: This sucks. I want to go home and kill myself.
Tristan: Noooo, don't kill yourself.
Me: Why not?
Tristan: Who's going to be the next J.K. Rowling then?
God I love him.