Because I want to fall for a writer

If I could ever choose to fall in love, I would fall in love with a writer.
Because...
He would notice everything. He would notice how my mouth would slightly curl towards the left when am annoyed. He would notice how my hair would twist at the ends after hours of sleeping and how the minutest and otherwise unnoticeable blush would creep up my cheeks when someone compliments me. He would discern my toes curling inside my shoes whenever I got nervous, and even before I could speak he would slowly hold my hand and comfort me with his words.
I would love to fall for a writer because...
None of the guys looked into my eyes, straight to my soul and voice for me, for my deepest insecurities. None of the guys looked at me enough to know what my gestures said, and I had to speak too much to explain. None of the guys wrote a poem on how beautiful I looked on that last day of my school, in my simple saree, devoid of makeup, because makeup would hid too much of my face, and my emotions couldn't be seen straight.
That fine morning, when I decided to fall for a writer, I didn't know what I had to lose.
Now because the idea of falling in love with a writer has influenced me deep within my soul that the standards had been set too high, and now no other guy seems to be fit enough.
Because he ruined me, without even touching me, for everyone else. ❤