Love is something I've never known, never seen in someone's eyes, never felt through a passionate kiss or a kind action. But it is something I've dreamed about constantly. I missed my notebook. I missed being able to write whenever I wanted to, or felt the need to escape this world, or share a romantic moment with a fictional character. But I had lost that right when I left my notebook lying around in the forest and a certain werewolf had picked it up and taken it home with him, deciding to read it. I wonder how he thought they were, or if I sounded too desperate or clueless about love.
Because, honestly, I was.