I don't go anywhere for at least a week without Annabelle's arm wrapped around my waist. I wasn't starved for contact, no. Jenna or Jacob or Rose are always happy to hug or cuddle me if I need someone.

But I was starved for this contact. The kind that feels like it's just the two of us in a bubble, no matter where we are. Safe from the world and all of the negativity that comes with it.

She's the moment when you can sit down on the top of the hill and watch the sun go down, then the moon take his place. It's quiet, and you just hear the crickets start to chirp.

She's when you feel the stress melt away when you think about the big picture and how really it's all alright.

We sit in cafés and instead of sitting across from her, I slide right in next to her and lean my head on her shoulder.

We walk down the streets, and I hold her hand simply because I missed how it felt, because missed tracing my fingers across her heartlines and swinging our arms together in the space between us.

We slow dance in the living room when her house is empty, and I can't help but close my eyes and imagine this in a couple years, maybe when we've got our very own house.

I usually can't romanticize concepts, but this idea fills me with the inexplicable feeling I only get around the subject of my dreams herself.

I can see it now: a sliding glass door in the kitchen, maybe leading out to a balcony. The moon's out, and the sky a rich indigo. We're both in our pajamas, her shirt hanging loosely enough for me to see her collarbones.

I used to doubt that she'd feel the same. I used to think the way about love as seeing a dove on the side of the road — lovely, but fleeting.

I know now that she wants that, too. Last night, we had one of the most conversations of my life.

"Hey, Annabelle?" I'm laying next to her, my side snuggled against hers.

"Yeah?"

"I'm in love with you."

"I'm in love with you, too, Hazel."

"I don't want this to end." It's what I've been thinking, but I've always been afraid it'd make me sound like I'm trying to force her to stay with me forever. (Not that I could, but still.)

"Neither do I." Her hand finds mine lying on her stomach and squeezes it.

"I gotta say, I've been thinking about this since we met. But I want to have a life with you."

She turns on her side to face me, hooking her flannel-covered knee around my thigh. "Me too."

"And I just ... imagine it all the time. What a life with you would be like. And I can truly, honestly say that nothing would make me happier.

"So maybe, in the future ... would you like to get a house? Together?"

She leans forward until our foreheads are pressed together. "I can truly, honestly say that I would follow you anywhere. And I would like nothing more than to spend the rest of my life waking up to your beautiful face.

"You brought color to my life. And that sounds kinda stupid, but it's also true. You saw my blog."

"You brought hope to mine."

"Guess we must be soulmates, then." She leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to my lips.

"Sometimes I think this is all a dream, honestly, and morning's on its way. I don't want it to end." I rotate my body until I'm on top of her, my ear pressed to her chest. I can hear her rhythmic heartbeat.

"Sleep, baby, sleep," she sings, running her fingers through my hair. "What are you waiting for?

"I promise that this isn't a dream, Hazel. You're too good for my world to lose."

Winter break comes and goes, and much too soon I have to pull on my (Annabelle's) sweater, a big puffy coat, and a scarf.

I think I look fairly ridiculous on the first day back, ready to go to Psychology in the snow, but Annabelle pulls me in by the tips of my scarf and presses her face into my hair.

She crinkles her eyes in a smile and waves when I walk out of her apartment door. She doesn't have to go back until next week, the lucky girl.

There's another picture of me and her on her blog when I get out of class and have a chance to check my phone.

I took refuge in the library directly in between Annabelle's apartment and the science building, and I'm standing against the stone wall in the foyer. Even with my crazy-big grin and flushed cheeks and snow in my hair (I left my hat in a place I can't remember), I don't get any weird looks. They're all college students — they've seen stranger things.

The picture is of me sleeping on top of her, so it really could have been from any time.

We had an agreement, that she was allowed to take pictures of me if I fell asleep, but only allowed to post them if I looked cute.

Which, of course, she countered with the argument that I always look cute. And although I didn't fully agree, I've found that if I look at myself in the mirror while thinking about all the things Annabelle's said about me, I can actually see what she's talking about.

It's quite a wonderful feeling, seeing yourself through someone else's eyes. Turns out I don't look crazy when I smile, or stupid when I put my hands on my hips.

Gives your anxiety less input on what the looks other people give you mean.

Makes you feel less ... tethered. To the ground, to your mind. I feel closer and closer to Annabelle the more she influences how I see myself.

Turns out Annabelle was all I needed to feel comfortable in my own skin.

a/n: hi!

thanks so much to That_Quirky_Girl for this amazing fanart! i smiled so much when i saw it oh my goodness, thank you!!! *hug*

everyone on here is so talented??? like what the heck???