Drain me until my veins wither, until my blood dehydrates
and my system bends my knees. I'll use my own spine to climb up my throat to get the words out: I love you. Too much. My brain always ends up counting the ways to forget, but I only found myself thinking about you more as I try to tell myself not to.
I don't want to not think about you. It drives me insane as if my foot pressed on the pedal to go straight ahead so I can knock some sense in you that we should both fight for this, and not take flight on your own spaceship because you were afraid of living in my world. Now, all I know is I'm afraid of losing what I have even though I don't have much; only statics of us too high-pitched to match the same wavelength, but you and I are both measured by nothing more but a maybe, or almost. Yet I still cling on the chances that no clouds could tell, if whether you'll pour me storms of sadness and flood not just my heart, but my soul too, or if you'll send your bright rays to escort me to your world and keep me close. I know, what we have was nothing but a false promise, a pot of gold at the foot of a rainbow, or a wish on a star. But nevertheless, I embraced it. I tossed a coin and took for myself a job that was supposed to be fate's.
Cause fairy tales wouldn't prove themselves true, and so does facts. Tadpoles once wished to have legs, and caterpillars-wings. And if horses can wish for a horn, then maybe I too, am allowed to wish for you to love me just the same.
