And no
I won't go to bed
thinking about the soft green of your eyes
I won't wonder
how many inches you have on me and
the way my head only measures to your collarbone
I won't dream
of your warm embrace
resting my head on your chest
I won't long
for the feeling of your lips on mine
hands eagerly at my waist
I won't think
about you
At least I'll try

I don't know what to say
And I'm not sure what to do
But I know what I want
What I want is you.

Maybe it doesn't matter
If my life is a long or successful one
As long as I was happy and loved
I'll be content when my time has come

I can't help but take offense
when someone calls me weird.
The word is not what I mind.
But the way the person says it,
Like an insult.
Weird.
Weird means I'm not the same
I'm not like the others, that I'm unique.
Weird means I don't wear the same mask everyone else does to fit in.
Weird means I'm unlike anyone you've ever met.
How can an attribute this remarkable
Sound so different when you use it in a sentence?

To me, you are like peach tea and the sensation in my stomach during the first drop on a roller coaster.
You're the glittering embers in the night sky after fireworks.
Your mind is the tip of a skyscraper, so wonderfully remote, penetrating the white feathers in the sky.
Your sound is the distant rumble of a promising storm, a book page being turned, a sigh of relief.
I feel you in the pinks of my cheeks and in the crevices of my hands.
You are present in all of my favorite things and
You make my world rosy by just existing in it.