Why I Loved the Bad Boy

It is, I think, wondrous, that all these things I write down on this diary came from my vague memories. Remembering all them is like seeing a blurry tape, all unclear but his eyes - just his eyes. Until now, even years after, I can still feel the electricity I felt back then under those gazes. It was just beautiful. And although my memory of the scenes I had with him are hazy, faint pictures, at least I know that what I feel - and what I'll forever feel, stays the same. Stays unscathed. Still as clear as always.