I realized what I felt for you while I ate my breakfast this morning.
I cut into the Belgian waffle and while the syrup poured out, it hit me.
The way you laugh and that little Southern drawl you have.
The way you make me say that I'm special, though I'd rather believe I'm not.
The way you want to cuddle and I want to do something more.
The way you don't want to hurt me when you leave, and I assured you that you couldn't.
I brought the fork to my mouth, and chewed the waffle.
I shouldn't have assured you anything, because this breakfast made me realize you can.
You can hurt me when you leave, and you will.