I did not plan on falling in love with you.
We were friends,
but that night you kissed me was something else.
For the first time, I felt fire on my lips and although I questioned your intentions,
I wanted to feel your mouth part with mine over and over and over and over and -- well, you get the point.

You never planned on making any moves because of what happened in April.
But, to keep this between the two of us,
I still feel awful every day.
I know I hurt you before but that was one time too many.
Never again will I break you.
Never again will I let my sloppy drunk kiss pull you in
just so I can wake up the next morning feeling some form of regret.
I will never understand why you were so persistent
or why you ever forgave me
or why you let me in again
but something about you is just oh-so special.

You are the biblical definition of perfection.
You are humble
and kind
and honest
and naive
and extremely insecure.
But I guess I have no one to blame but myself for that one.

And please stop saying I deserve better because you're wrong.
I deserve you,
nothing more, nothing less
and why can't you get that through your thick ******* skull?

I was always taught that to love is more important than to be loved
but love is a two way street.
Love is that busy road down the block with no crosswalks.
Yeah, you have to be patient and wait for the perfect time to run across
but what's on the other side holds more beauty then you could've ever imagined.

And if I could go back and change a thing, I wouldn't dare.
You make my heart smile whenever I'm with you.
You are, at worst, the rising sun.
And really, what is living for if not for falling in love?
You are magnificent.
And one day,
I will find the right words to say.
One day,
I will be able to form rational thoughts and coherent sentences explaining the things that can only be written on paper.
One day,
I will be able to tell you how kissing you was like swerving into oncoming traffic
and being without you was the hardest thing I never learned to cope with.
One day,
you'll know.
And it'll all make sense.

And even though it happened anyways,
I swear,
I did not plan on falling in love with you.

Please don’t call me beautiful
when your hands are between my legs,
and god forbid you say it as a seg-way
between you’re so hot
and my caution, your response
you’re sure you don’t want to?
I’m pretty sure the way my body looks,
nineteen and stress-infused with an Oreo belly
isn’t really what you pictured beneath my blouse,
and I’m positive you didn’t listen
to the story about my dad and the bad prom dress
because you cared. It was just sentiment. You said it was beautiful,
but really you wanted me to believe the act
like a description in the Playbill
and ride that trust all the way until the curtain dropped.
Please don’t call me beautiful
when the word ******* is before it
or if we are ******* because making love
is for married couples and you don’t even want me
sticking around for the ****** sunrise that peers
underneath your shade every morning.

Tell me I’m beautiful when I’m crying—
crack me open and watch the colors bleed
like a painting that hasn’t dried. Admire
the light that peaks through the clear parts
like a windowpane, no blinds.
Tell me I’m beautiful when I’m laughing,
when I’m reading my favorite part of a book,
when I’m stuffing my face with peanut-butter
pretzel bites and I haven’t washed my sheets in weeks,
and I’ll know you can’t be lying
because I’ve listened to the waves your heart makes
when you’re sleeping and I’ve called your smile
to the surface many times when you’ve tried
to deflect it back inside. You’ll know that
and you’ll know I’m beautiful.  
Call me beautiful
when you’re not even trying.
Call me beautiful when you’re by yourself
and the smell of my hair is still on your pillow,
or the memory of how dumb I sounded
singing my favorite song breaks your heart back
to the best little pieces.

the most self-destructive thing i have ever done
wasn't the red slashes on my arms
or my bruised knuckles and broken walls,
it was the moment i made someone my happiness
and my beacon of light.

Time was just a concept before I met you.
An illusion created by humans in order to get oneself through the day.
To get from point A to point B.
But now I see it as something created by God to help us understand the universe.
Night follows day,
summer follows spring,
old follows young,
sun rises tomorrow,
and I still love you.

I still love you.
I have learned that to be with those I love is enough
so in all actuality, I could lay with you forever.
And I want to stay with you until they come for us.
And I promise you, I will try harder next time
to be exactly what you need.

I never had the chance to tell you,
so I guess now is the perfect time.

I miss the way you sound when you’re tired
and how you always have your hands in your pockets.
I miss the scars on your face from all those years ago
and I know it hurt like hell
but I love the story behind them.
I miss when you say my name at the end of your sentences
and how you look so peaceful when you sleep.
I miss our stupid little arguments and how they’d always end up with you showing up to my house with kisses for apologies and your arms were strangely the safest place I can remember.
You made my knees rattle like flood gates after a hurricane
and I swear you set my heart on fire.

And although I was not born to love you miserably for the rest of time,
I have no doubt in my mind that loving you will be the death of me.
You were my home and my hardest goodbye.

Every day is a different start.
You could have a cup of coffee,
you could stay in bed,
you could dress up,
you could skip school,
but what will you choose?
Because I know having the same routine can get a little boring and you may want to switch it up but please don’t get bored with me.
Don’t leave me.
Not now, not ever.
Not even when the sun explodes and the earth bursts to flames and everything that ever was is gone.
Not even when World War III breaks out in your own home and you swear you can’t take it any longer.
And I promise you, I haven’t lost my way.
Just give me some time to find myself
but don’t forget to open your chest because I think I lost her somewhere between your rib cage and your rotten lungs.
You cough up broken promises like a habitual smoker and I can’t help but wonder what kind of air you're breathing and who in God’s great name did this to you?

I've never had anyone stick by me for longer than the time it took me to learn how to tie my shoes.
I had never loved before you came along mainly because I was never quite sure what love was.
Love is the butterflies I get in my stomach when you say my name.
It’s an unattainable goal that’ll always be just out of your reach but not out of your sight.
It’s an ear-splitting cry for help but the person isn't a victim and they don’t need saving.
To love is so startling it leaves little time for anything else.
But, I didn't just fall in love you know,
I made a parachute jump.
Now, there’s no way to know for sure,
but I’m almost certain it’s real when your heartbeat sounds more like a ticking time bomb.

The bath water
is the colour of my eyes;
yet, I don't know
which is wetter.