You're mysterious.
You're mysterious in the way that makes me want to open you up like a book and read your pages from start to finish but I can't because you are so high up on the shelf that I cannot reach you.
You sit up on the shelf collecting dust trying to protect yourself from the people who will rip out your pages or bend your cover.
Oh, how I wish I could climb up the shelf and take you down and have you tell me your story.
Maybe one day I'll finally be able to climb and reach out to you, but for now, you're just the book I have yet to read and you're on my list.

I'm in love.
I'm in love with the way grass smells after it's been mowed.
It has a certain smell that reminds me of summer days and childhood memories.

I'm in love with how that rain hits my window during a storm.
It's like it wants to come in so badly that tries to obliterate my window but only to realize that as soon as it hits the glass, the raindrop itself obliterates.

And I guess that's how I feel in love with you. You reminded me of summer nights and some childhood memories and I wanted to get into your heart so badly that I thought if I made myself fall you would catch me.

But, just like the raindrop, I obliterated on contact.