i think i’m in love with you. You have a nice smile, no, nice is a ****** adjective. you have a smile like slow-twisting clouds above the line of dawn, it tears me apart in the best possible way. You make me unable to focus on anything on a continual basis. You

should come over. please?. Someday, i'll stop being so sad. i hope you realise it'll probably be because of you. You + me = well, we could merge escapist tendencies and get out of here, if you'd like.

If i saw you now i’d kiss you. no, i say that, but i’d probably just look at you and say nothing and wish i could say... everything, but all i want is to see you, i want to just smile at you, mainly i want to kiss you. i

would build an ocean, just

for you. If i could sing you any song it would be untitled, like all the rest of them.

We could curl up in blankets and ignore everything else, except one another’s eyes, under the stars.

Love,
sad little tom

(P.S. just try to be happy, ok?.)

*((P.P.S. try to realise how ******* wonderfully i feel about you though, ok? my tongue is a knot, but i really do. next time i see you, i'll tell you. promise. x))

I never had the chance
to hear 'I miss you'
uttered from your lips
with any hint
of you sincerely being serious

I can feel the freedom
tearing me
limb from limb
because my core burns out
but my ribs cave in
and every notch on my bedpost
doesn't feel like victory
or anything, really
because the last time I felt
was the last time I said
I miss you
and I won't put myself
through righteous hell
(again)

even though here I stand
pulling excuses from thin air
like,
you forgot your pen,
you still have my sweater,
I still have your virginity,
tucked into that drawer
that I won't open
because it smells like home
and
we both know that would drive me
right over the edge

yet you also know so well
that if I was presented with 'home'
I wouldn't be able to tell
the difference.
So when I say home,
I'm inferring
that it tasted like your absence
and passive aggression
and sheets tangled with sweat
no longer from passion
but from the constant
cage of dreaming
taking a weightless axe
to throats
to home
to anyone
who dares to say
that I've moved on
because

I've moved seventeen times
and never once
have I felt like
I did with your face in my hair
and my chin on your chest
like home.
and I've avoided it so long
and now it's or I am gone
and either way
your eyes shift past my face
past my naked sincerity
past my begging for
'I miss you's
that won't come home.

All I can say is
I guess I'm pretty happy
you asked me that, too.