Cliché.

You had one of those rare smiles, the ones that say you're listening, the ones that say that whilst you're looking at me and smiling you're being genuine and not false or disinterested you're just caring about what I have to say. You had eyes that creased at the corners and blonde hair that occasionally just fell into them, like all the cliché teen anticipations but it suited you, and I highly doubt I was the only one there wishing it was socially acceptable to reach up and brush it back. You stood just high enough that your shoulders were at my head height and when I leant forward for a hug I was enveloped in your arms and addictive scent. Walking down the dark streets with you, laughing and making you laugh. Joking about and pretending to be offended, making jokes, grabbing your hand to steady myself and running through the city like it was the last night of our lives. 
For a few nights I felt like I was in some kind of movie. 
I could believe in a happy ending.