about a boy

This boy made me tea using loose leaf and a classy silver tea ball. He propped up a puffy white pillow so I could lean against him and watch movies about Origami and music. I was sniffly and sick and he let me lay. His hands on my back and on my arms. Our fingers intertwine and I cannot stop tickling and caressing fingertips, palms, the unbelievable softness of his face. It is small moments... we laid face to face, he grabbed my hand and giggled as we went up the stairs, he said my name as I was about to walk out the door. He said that it was a treat seeing me turn orange in the sunrise. I laid staring out the window at the rain and listening to the sound of him making coffee and I smiled from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. I sat close to him as he showed me his favorite bike routes. I felt his energy. We were so incredibly sober when we touched, more sober than I've been with someone in ages. We were so high, higher than I've ever been. I could not stop the laughing. This boy makes me feel somehow special, somehow lovely. But deep inside I don't feel good enough. What he must think of me and my seeming lack of perception and intellect. I wish I could get the words to come out right.  I feel trapped by my fears and conventions and a total distrust of myself and everyone else's intentions. I have no idea how I feel except that I want to feel more. I wonder if he feels the same.