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It may seem unlikely, but Conor is the only thing on my mind. In the morning, I think about his beautiful eyes, so hypnotisingly beautiful it made everything around them seem oh so insignificant. In the day I see him, I couldn't bear a day without Conor, yet when I am with him, I analyse him. Every slight movement of an arm or his leg is noted in my mental book of Conors habits, those habits I love so much and make Conor the man I love. At night, if I am amazingly lucky enough to be with him, I watch him from under my eyelashes, lightly observing his antics. I had lost days worth of sleep staring at Conor's never resting eyes, my gaze locked on his perfectly formed back as he stared out to the sky, oblivious to the world around him. Yet I knew that I was on his mind, as he was always on mine. As the days pass, Conors everlasting presence in my thoughts had made me begin to worry. The immense concern I constantly felt about Conor was almost motherly, was it right for me to worry like that? He never slept for more than an hour, constantly looked stressed and was always so restrained. Only in our long talks in our field had he began to relax. His shoulders fell down, his hair was not constantly being messed with and his right hand didn't flicker at his side so much. I loved that Conor more than any other aspect of his personality, that was my Conor. Before I met him, I never worried, yet now my mind filled with concern whenever his imperfectly perfect form appeared before my eyes. Why did I have such a special connection to Conor? What was so special about him? It definitely was not his ever present manners and kindness, for many men were even nicer, even more gentlemanly, so why him? Why did my heart flutter rapidly whenever he came near? How come every step he took closer to me made my heart fly further and further out of my chest with each bump, I could swear he could notice. But his face was nearly always rock still, never moving. Never showing if he felt the same way too. He has said he loves me more than a hundred times, and I wish with all my heart I could believe it. I have sat for days with him, in utter silence, and he has stayed by me, meeting me the next day. Although I always greeted him with a loving smile, while he always greeted me with a hug, filled with desperation and loss. He needed me, but did he love me? I asked myself that question everyday, and for gods sake...I'd love to know the answer. But did it matter? No matter how he felt, I would keep on loving him, helping him and I would never leave him, ever. I feel unnerved by his urgency when he tells me he loves me, the depression in his voice makes it feel like he regrets saying it. Conor was not a selfish man, and may just have wanted to make me happy, though I knew in my heart he would never hurt my heart like that. He knew how much I loved him, I projected my love out from my body, making it apparent to the world. I poured my love and joy over him, but it was just a waterfall over a plastic statue, nothing would get in, unless it found a hole. He confuses me and I sometimes wonder what I have got myself into. He is very vulnerable and I have signed myself up for more than a relationship, it is so heart binding, so life changing, something neither of us would ever forget and I begged to god every day that it would never end. But what made me most scared of all, was there was never certainty in my voice. Conor was so unpredictable that the thoughts going through his mind terrified me. I love him with all my heart, with all my life, but does he?