it's never going to work between
the girl whose love language is poems
and the boy whose love language is
peeling off her prawn shells

she wants him to immortalize her
through words on paper
but he's too busy folding her
1000 origami paper cranes

he wants her to bring him
breakfast in bed for his birthday
but she's too busy quoting love songs
that reminds her of him

there was a language barrier between them

it made them doubt each other

"does he really love me?"
she asks herself as he braids her hair
while she talks about the deeper meaning behind her poems

"does she really love me?"
he asked himself as she romanticized every little thing he does for her
and writes about it

perhaps, she will never know just how much he loves her when he's building her a library for all the books she owns

perhaps, he will never know just how much she loves him when she writes about how days without him felt like an eternity