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But that's the thing.
Everyone in the world is telling me it's hopeless, the chances are very grim, and just flat out "no"'s.
But my heart is pounding and my head aches and every bone and nerve and cell in my body is screaming yes.
Their constant denying only makes the thought of having you more intriguing and the very glimpse of your lips on mine ten times more intoxicating when I shut my eyes at midnight.
I honestly can't help but believing we were made for each other. Like the work of God.
And I'd be lying if I didn't say I don't think about the possibility of one day you liking me as much as I like you every single night.
To think:
All those 11:11s,
And dandelions
And horseshoes
And being superstitious
Never walking under ladders
Or chasing black cats
were all just me living on the slight hope that a smudge of good luck could lead me to you.
But you're just bones and a beating heart and a pair of eyes how did you fuck me up so badly??
How have I come to know your laugh as paradise and only begun to understand heaven as I catch a glimpse of your emerald green eyes.
I don't know.
Maybe I'm better off without you.
There's no medicine in the hearts of boys who don't know how your heart beats or your head thinks.
But I guess I can't see straight anyway because it's 2:18 in the morning and I can't get over the idea of everybody having their "one and only" and I swear to you one day our poems will be about someone who'll also write about us.
...You don't have to worry darling, I'll always write poems about you knowing you'd never write a goddamn syllable for me.
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