18 / 4 / 2019
Your lips are a blush pink, cursed into a never ending, painful smile.
We match in a way that is sickening.
I know how you feel.
As do you know how i.
How you haven't figured it out yet messes with me.
How you haven't noticed how much i want you to take me to a meadow, on a slow Sunday to show me how much you love me.
But you don't.
You simply don't know.
So i'll be waiting for you.
Drinking my pink lemonade. Hoping you'll see me, holding eye contact for just too long.
Hoping you'll notice me touch your shoulder with slight hesitation when you say something mediocrely funny.
