My only crime is that I
Have way too good of an imagination, because
In my mind
We’ve been talking now for quite awhile and
You finally realize
That you want to be with me, only me, and I
Am not sitting here alone, lonely, wondering
What you’re doing, where you are, or what you’re thinking.

Its true - I always wear my heart too openly, smile too widely,
I decide what I want, then pursue it with everything inside of me, and
It’s embarrassing, because clearly you either haven’t been noticing
Or… you just don’t really care.

Life is never going to be fair, they should have told us that
In tv, books and movies, there is no happy ending
There is only rocky beginnings, twisting middle grounds
And inconclusive endings.
It’s been four days now, and you still haven’t said anything.
You have my poetry, my hopes,
While I am left here, alone, with nothing.

No phone calls, no texts, just empty, deflated imaginings.
In my defense, if you were to call me out on it, I wouldn't lie about it either. I've had you stuck - for days and weeks - inside my head.
It's true, your Honor. I apologize. Proclaim me guilty for this crime.
Because I just
Have way too good of
An imagination, I guess.