i remember when you came over for the first time
you said we couldn't go to your apartment
because your tv was broken
i was nervous because it was the first time i'd had a boy over
and even though it doesn't mean a lot
being next to you made everything a little more okay
once you told me i was "the most
intellectually stimulating person you know"
but on the days im too tired to be intelligent
im terrified you will like me less
the first time we were on my couch
you reached for my hand  
but i was too oblivious to understand the gesture
and didn't reach back
and even though i blame it on being naive
i know it's because im anxious that you actually like me back
and im scared shitless that you'll get bored of me
the first time i realized how often you blink
was the same day you told me my eyes are always bloodshot
and if eyes are really the window to someone's soul
it makes sense that you're always hiding yours
and mine are always bleeding
and i know it's not worth much  
but the first time you put your arm around me
was the first time i felt sincerely comfortable with myself
and thinking about your lips on mine
still gives me goosebumps
and i know feelings are transient just like everything else
but your laughter is my favorite thing about being awake
and i know me liking you can't make you like yourself
but i will try
god, i will try

i don't want you to be
just another song
i never quite learned all the words to
i want to memorize
the vocals of your vertebrae
the harmony in holding your hand
the symphony under your skin
the lyrics on your lips
i want to scream you with my windows down
and hum you as i brush my teeth
your verses coursing through my veins
and your bridge stuck between my teeth
i want to know all of you
the way you know every nuance to your favorite song
i want to trace your jawline with my lips to brand new
and feel your hand in mine to tigers jaw
so please
don't be just another song
i never quite memorized

you pull your sleeves down over your hands
like you're always cold
(i wouldn't mind warming you up)
and you always say you're tired
but you still stay up til 2
to talk to me
(i won't apologize for it
because god, those texts make me happy)
and you say you hate physical contact
but you still reach for my hand
every time we're on the couch
(i can't describe how much that means)
and you make me want to write
because you're the most beautiful boy
and i can't believe you chose me
but my words are inept
and i fumble over my own to tongue
every time i try
(you are too beautiful
        for  me
                       to
                              describe)

the kind of boy
you want to grab by the shoulders
and scream
YOU MADE ME START WRITING AGAIN
AND I CAN'T THANK YOU ENOUGH

i hate
the gap between my teeth
almost as much
as the one between my legs
and i hate
the words i butcher when im around you
almost as much
as the ones i wish i had the courage to say
and i hate
getting out of your car
almost as much
as i hate spending the night alone

but you call my cynicism
endearing
and my jokes
funny
and my thoughts
beautiful

and that
       is
         enough

your eyes
resigned and dark
like they've never seen a minute of sleep
(i mean this in the best way)
sometimes i catch myself staring and look away
because i am afraid that
if i gaze for too long
i'll never be able to stop
(please don't be offended)
and your tired voice
as though you feel you have to speak softly
or it will shatter this fragile thing
between us
sometimes i don't understand your murmurs
but they're beautiful all the same
and i don't ask you to repeat yourself
because i don't want you to think
you should ever speak louder
you are
the kind of sleepy   
i wouldn't mind listening to
(or looking at)
(or kissing)
for the rest of forever
your eyes say 'let me sleep'
and the timbre of your voice
replies 'if only i could'
but your words persist
fueled only by
your unrelenting interest
in
me