You might not know, but you have always been my muse-the subject of all my love letters.
I hope you know you are very poetry material,
I will definitely spend forever writing only about you.
You are my favorite topic in my postcards.
You whispered,
you kind of want to date a poetic girl
or a songwriter.
"Imagine the songs she made just for you"
are the exact words you said,
if only you knew.
That I write this for you,
there is no one else that could do it,
solely you.
It is not a matter of chance,
always a matter of choice
I believed.
Not until I realized how unknowingly,
and precedently
I was descending to you.
Truly I hate you,
I hate you for being you.
I love you quite terribly,
I love you for being you.
How can I hate you so much
and love you at the same time?
You won money in the number game;
there was an
intense,
abrupt,
passionate
forcing feeling inside me,
wanting to pat your head,
touch your muffled hair.
But instead
I pulled your hair,
saying,
"Treat me."
I do really hate you-
sincerely,
earnestly,
without pretence,
from the bottom of my deepest heart,
in all consciousness.
You are not my ideal type-
surely not.
Nevertheless
I got to agree objectively,
that you have got a divine pair of narrow eyes
and a heavenly smile,
I think it is your charming point.
Did you cast a spell to possess me this much?
You are curious why do people fall for you,
and I am thinking who would not fall for you?
You are not hard to like-
at all,
it is very easy to like you,
to the point I will not notice I am actually falling . . .
and failing-
failing from resisting.
You have got an irresistible pair of narrow eyes,
and your laugh is-
the whole world will stop seeing that laugh,
because mine had stopped.
You are such a guy,
I hope you will be my guy.
