But You Say He's Just A Friend

He calls me beautiful, he likes my photos, he pulls up whenever I call, he listens to me cry about other boys, he gives me kisses on the forehead, he tells me when I'm wrong, and he loves me and protects me from all other boys. He looks at me with the softest, most delightful, playful, develish eyes. Like he knows I'll always come when he calls. He looks at me like he can turn my reckless, rebellious side into a delicate butterfly side. He watches the smoke swirl off my perfectly rolled backwood, thinking he has me completely figured out, wrapped around his finger.

I could go on and on...