I fell in love with you when I was 13. I guess It was the thought of you. You were the universe on a pinpoint. You were everything and anything. Every eyelash fallen, every dandelion blown with the same wish. Love me, find me, be mine. I don't know exactly how the idea came to me. I was a romantic, poetic, and clueless. I couldn't help it. There were to many movies and books replaying scenes in my head. Too many hopeless love stories and happy ever afters that had been promised to me. I knew who you were. I could recognize you anywhere. I was yours and you were mine. I was young, unafraid, and in love. I fell in love at 13.

And he's funny, if I walk into a room, and he's there, he'll always make me laugh. Sure, if we walk down the hallway together, we won't hear whisper's of they are so cute. We also won't hear whispers of that won't last long either. And he makes me happy, he makes me feel good about myself. So right now, for  me, thats enough. So yeah, I'm not the one,  but I'd rather be the reason for his smile, than the reason for his heartbreak. Maybe my mind will change later, but right now I like they way things are. I'm satisfied. He makes me happy,  and I like that.

And It was like there was a fire in the underbelly of my heart, that I  had waited so long for. On the winding path that I constantly found myself lost in, I had found a reason. I had been lingering, hoping for some sort of inspiration, something to believe in, a map, a key. The uncertainty and curiosity that I tended to find myself tangled in, became my muse. Although I grasp tightly on to my reason, I doubt it will last long. I am known for losing things.

And I was perfect, to him at least, I was a heads up penny, a single ray of sunshine in a dark room. He told me how it was amazing how I was not already someone else's labeled piece in this silly game of love. He saw me how I wanted to see myself. And every moment we had was perfect, a perfect reproduction of what I had imagined it all to be. But like I always do, I ruin everything. He started to fall in love with me, as I fell out of love with him.

A pencil dive, when you're half way down into the cool deep,
finally realizing how bad you need air.
Then it becomes a struggle, a battle of  pushes and pulls.
It would be some much easier to give up but as your lungs shriek
in despair you know its the last thing you can do.  
So you get over the five seconds of struggle and
you make it back to civilization again.  
You continue this somewhat insane pattern of
deprivation and struggle just to remind yourself
how much you love the taste of air