'When someone asks you about yourself, you always turn towards your friend for help' my philosophy teacher said,
I'm rather bad at talking about myself,
and find it quite difficult to recall all the things I have ever done that anyone else might be interested in,
there is an irony in your personal statement, being one of the least personal things you will ever write,
formal and distant,
forced to sound nothing like myself

The meaning of life is to bumble along until we find someone who pauses in their bumbling and holds our eye contact for a bit too long.

I read that poem by the guy with OCD
Lamenting that his love's new lover will never cherish her and perfect his kisses, because he only does it once
And in the same way, you don't know what a gift you have
He is right there, at your very doorstep, touching distance
If you want someone to cuddle or to entwine limbs with, he'll always be right there
And I'm here.
Out in the middle of no where
Out of touch and out of sight
Evidently, out of mind
When you walk to his door and call gently for him through the cracks
I wish you knew that that was one of the greatest gifts you have ever been bestowed
I would give up all my gifts, every last one, just to breath the same air as him
In the meantime, when I look into the vast skies at night, I am comforted knowing that we are looking at the same Big Dipper, the same Orion's Belt,
The same side of the moon
I suppose that'll have to do.

I wanna sit down and have a coke with you,
Oh there's so much I could say
I don't like coffee or coke but I'll drink then anyway
I'm gonna lay my cards out on this table
And hope you won't walk away
I'm not going to try and be her, that's not what I'm about
I'm sure many people have been in this rocking boat, wishing they're good enough
So here it goes:
I'm a little strange (but you knew that one anyway)
I lose interest far too fast but only someone like you could make it last
I pick people who would never think of me that way simply because I like the chase
And when I saw you, well I could give you any number of cliches
I don't like Oreos or pizza very much
And sometimes I feel so out of touch
I would struggle to tell you a Jay-Z song, but could talk about Lewis Watson all night long
I'm not very good at art and I see all these pictures of couples and just feel so inadequate because I'm not graceful or elegant and I certainly don't look good in just anything, and my clothes will never be 'oh this old thing'
I don't dress like everybody else and I have to wear shoes with chunky soles to give me some height
Oh and I've seen Justin Bieber, twice
I have this mental family you see, and I'm really lucky to be as sane as I am, I had it hard growing up, parents weren't there and when they finally were it's because they had another child. My Dad's first boy and my Mum's baby, so it was pretty hard growing up.
My babysitter fed me till I has chubby and round and it's been a long time losing all that baby fat
I finally feel comfortable in who I am, even though I struggle to get organised and am not the most well-rounded pupil in my school, achieving 4 As while being part of the debating, rugby, maths and French teams
I didn't know what existentionalism was until a smart guy in my English class told me,  but I'm not ashamed
Because I like who I am.
There are a lot of nice things, too
I am thoughtful and will do little things to make you happy
I have eyes that go golden and freckles on my face
My ***** are a comfortable resting place
I would never let you down and I love with all my soul
I'm spontaneous and like to do fun things and just drive to the other side of the country for the day, or fly to Italy
I'd never run out of ideas of new things we could do, or places we could go
But just like Ed, I'd be equally happy just to stay on the sofa with you
I have lots of interesting stories from things that happened in my day
And I give good kisses and hugs
And I know, dressed up, I could blow you away
I know this isn't much of a love poem, really, but it's been hard to let go of what has come before, and not to make comparisons. But you're the first person that's stolen my breath away and turned it into the evening zephyr.
Usually my words are poetic and metaphorical, but I told you I'd lay it all down. And whilst these are words I would never (could never) say, I hope they find their way to you, anyway.
Very sincerely yours.

With fireflies, whizzing by our eyes
Lights out, moonlight
A blazing fire, a warmth in my throat
Sipping bottled stars
The bubbles and the tingles
The night is young, we say, the world is ours
You take my hand oh so softly
And there on that step
I really tasted  the stars,
Like a big ol' slice of the sun
That same tingle on your skin as mid-summer day
And I was awake and alive
Among the dark halls and the fairy lights,
Up in the cupboard far away
We created our very own, private Milky Way

This one time, in biology, we learned how to take samples of fish in water, I don't like fish
And I don't like this feeling of churning up old stuff
You had to scrape the bottom ten times and then take a step and repeat
Going back over the things that happened between me and you is the very same
My stomach churns like the water in that lake
And I'm a little fish getting lost in the chaos, finally to be trapped in the net
And all the dirt, the mess and the muck, that's  
Those days, after you left, where everything was dark again
Like that one time, not in biology, I felt that I was stuck down a well, and I was clawing at the mud but I couldn't get out
And in Chemistry, I got some acid on my skin
And I let it burn
Because it was nice to feel something else
Other than the murky, brown mess
And now, I'm that little fish, churned up and confused, waiting for the water to settle so I can swim away
They say you can't swim in the same river twice because every second it's changing
And reliving this and reliving us is a little different each time as it gets further, more distant from the first time
I hope that the little fish keeps swimming til she finds the ocean, I don't think the little fish could cope being churned up and caught just one more time

of all the little, minute and insignificant,
yours are my favourite.
the redness of your face when you have to talk in public
the way you cross your arms high up on your chest
the intensity of your stare
the playfulness
I also rather like the other silly, small things
the way you dance
the way you open your mouth really wide when you sing
the face your pull when you're surprised
the intricacies in the fabric
when you go quiet when lyrics about love are being played
and the force behind your words when singing 'I'll Be Fine'
It's just a shame that these things are hers and not mine