All I feel right now are butterflies.
Fluttering around in my stomach.
I really wish away they'd fly.
But thinking about it is roughish.

All I'd have to do is talk to you about it.
And they'd be gone, super quick.

Some days you make me feel crazy about you.
And some days you make me feel small.
People tell me to say something, my whole crew
But I feel like I'll crash into a wall.

Maybe you're called a crush because you can crush my soul.
With one word, one breath, one look.
You're in front of me now, and you look so whole.
But you've never really been an open book.

You seem so strange now that you're awkward.
Except maybe that's just my view.
Maybe my heart's going a bit too far.
Leading me even more to you.

But I can't go to you,
You won't accept it.
My heart is in pieces, very few.
But still enough to make it hurt.

I was fixing some of my poetry,
Just now.
I went to type something.
But autocorrect somehow works like fate.

I figured it would be something simple.
Like changing a few letters.
But I didn't get just that.
It auto corrected to your name.

And I miss you.
So much I can feel the empty cavity
Where my heart isn't simply because...
It belongs to you.

I keep feeling this pain.
And sometimes I wonder why.
Why you aren't here,
Why I can't see you.

I wish we could facetime,
Or text or relay
Messages through friends
So I could talk to you again.

But I have seven and a half months
Yes. I've been counting.
In my head and out loud.
On the days I need grounding.

And I miss you
I miss you
I miss you
I miss you

I miss you every day
All the time
And I don't know why I can't seem to stop.

...
Stupid autocorrect.

I really want to thank you.
Whether I'm being sarcastic or not,
You'll never know.

I feel like every time I write something,
It's for someone to read.
Spooky government guys,
Or girls who really like fries.

But sometimes it feels like I don't want to.
I don't want you to read about
Who or what affects me.

Sometimes I worry because my friends can read these things.
My friends, they enjoy poetry too.
My English teacher's on here.
She says she approves.

It's weird, isn't it?
How small the world is.
Yet I never see who I really want to.

I see uncles and aunts
And really long lost cousins.
I see my grandma's friends everywhere.
At weddings and all affairs.

But the only way I can see
Who I really want to.
Is through writing and pictures,
And trust me,
I do.

But it feels like it can't be real,
not yet.
I have eight months to go,
And I fret and I fret.

I can't wait to see those
Amazing blue eyes.
The upturn of blond hair,
And your shirts like the skies.

Your sense of adventure keeps me going.
It's weird,
I know,
how these words keep flowing.
You'll never read them.
But if you do,
Hi,
I suppose.

I miss you.
With your laugh,
So infrequent,
And your entrances.
Through fire escapes?
     That's perfectly normal to me.
From under a table?
      That's pretty normal to see.
To scare me on a staircase?
      Of course, why not?
Hanging off a balcony?
    Fine, but keep your thoughts.

But the one entrance you have yet to make.
Is the one I want you to most.
The one that leads you back into my world.
The one that makes the legend unfurl.

I have documents upon documents
I'd love you to read.
But you never really will,
It's not hard to believe.

Poems and lists,
Monologues galore.
But wait and look,
Here's one more.
And you ask,
What is it truly for?

A thank you,
Dear friend
For being who you are.
And simply to ask you to look up at the stars.

For I can see the moon,
And so can you.
And I just wish,
I could see you too.