I want to whisper it in your short, slick hair.
I want it to travel the corridors of your mind, slinging paint all over every crevice in your thought. The walls will bleed with my name, and you will see red, red, red, everywhere. Your heart will thump, blood coursing. Adrenaline. Attraction. Infatuation.
Clackity clack went my keyboard, fingers flying. I sent you that email. Did you read it? It was long, I know. I'm sorry, I have a tendency for too much words when it comes to telling you how I feel. I wanted you to know, how happy you make me. Did you get that? Do you know, now?
...You haven't replied.
Do I not make you happy? Oh, dear. I'm afraid to ask. I'm afraid for the harsh words, awkward pauses.
You've woken up so late today.
My, my, you seem happy.
...I have a secret for you.