" I got you some flowers."

" That's so sweet but why flowers?"

" What? You don't like flowers?"

" Flowers die. Isn't that a horrible metaphor for love? something that dies?"

"Well. **** the flowers. Lets just hold hands."

I haven't spoken to you in 53 hours and 22 minutes.
And that hurts.
I don't want to speak to you first, because you're making no effort to talk to me,
So why should I make an effort to talk to you?
Why should I make an effort to nurture you and care for you when you have full days of nothing to do, but you don't even say hello.
5 little letters that mean nothing to you, but mean so much to me.
When you say hello, it means I've crossed your mind.
It means you want to speak to me.
It means you want my effort, because you're willing to give yours.
But I guess I haven't crossed your mind in 53 hours and 24 minutes, because there's still not
A single **hello.

Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f

some days,
i let myself
love you a
little too
much

Last night,
I thought of you.
Touching me, kissing me.
Making me yours.
Last night,
I thought of you.
Your body moving with mine
Like a machine.
Last night,
I thought of you.
Your lips touching skin,
And your hands revealing me.
Our hands discovering each other's bodies.
Is it bad,
That last night,
At midnight,
All I wanted was you.

I fell in love with him
I fell in love with you
fell in love with words
Why am I such a fool?

I fell in love with his arms
I fell in love with the strength
fell in love with the feeling
but never sure what it meant

I fell in love with reactions
I fell in love with his passion for words
fell in love with a presence
and a gentle sigh I heard

I fell in love with thoughts
I fell in love with given time
fell in love with the ponderings
that wander through my mind

I fell in love with romance
I fell in love with a heart in a whirl
fell in love with imagined caresses
Could you fall in love with this girl?