maybe this will never happen, maybe we'll never label us 'us' . maybe we'll never hold hands and travel the world. maybe you'll never put your head on my shoulder while i read to you my favourite book.
and maybe that's okay.
maybe it's enough for me to take in how good you looked when you came out your classroom door and stand outside mine. maybe it's enough for me to daydream about you in history class and scribble your name in random pages. maybe it's enough for me to get all giddy and excited going home the same path as yours.
maybe it's enough for me to picture you to be the type of person i've wanted my whole life. imagine how terrible it would be if you turned out to be nothing of the sort.
YOU ARE READING
crimson
Poetry'here a seventeen year old with such a hurricane of emotions talks and rambles about her musings, and writes about lovers she hasn't met and heartbreaks she hasn't yet experienced,as well as others in its rawest state with the hopes that they may b...
