I think I'm in love with you.
Crazy, I know- but I think this confession is a little overdue, don't you? After all, we've been together for years. As long as I can remember.
I guess I just... never got up the courage.
But it makes sense, right? It's gotta be love. It has to be.
I see your face everywhere I turn.
I see you staring from my own eyes in the mirror. I've just woken up too early on some stormy warm morning after another dream of my teeth crumbling into so much candy powder.
I see you in the smile of the boy with butter-blonde hair that I was so over the moon for and never told-saw, I should say- I don't think I'll ever see him again.
I catch glimpses of you in the dark frownlines of my father, who I will never demand answers from, why he did the things that he's done.
I've heard your voice- over the phone that day when I cried (ugly and wet) in a bathroom stall, trying to tell my mom that I liked girls- and you answered me in her likeness: "I love you anyway."
I feel you, baby, in every coil of my guts- when a knot like a fist settles deep and sweet into the dark bottom of my belly. Guess that must be your way of making me your main squeeze.
It must be love, sugar, has to be; you've taken everything else from me.
Login or register to post a comment.