I've been in my own hometown
for a couple of weeks now,
and slowly, you've started to
creep out of my mind.
I had a dream about you last night,
and now I'm right back where I started.
it's a cruel and unusual fate,
not being loved in return.

in ten years, I’m not going
to remember the sound of your voice
or the exact color of your eyes,
but I’m going to remember
how you made me feel
and how you kept me up at night
because I couldn’t stop
thinking about you.
2 AM is a lonely time
without you here by my side.

I am not the portrait
of a love struck thirteen year old
that I painted myself out to be.
last night, I fell asleep hoping that
if there ever comes a day that
you touch my back for a second time,
I will act completely normal.
I will not blush and smile like an idiot
or dance around my bedroom
to lame pop music that I know
you wouldn’t approve of.
they always said that I was mature for
my age. but now? I’m not so sure.

I'm almost certain that it isn't love.
I just really like the words you use
and the way you talk. I can't help it.
your laugh leaves me wanting more.

when we left for the summer,
I suffered the heartbreak that is
associated with a break up and
a type of sadness that is only
associated with death.
I’m not sure how I got here.

do we have to be friends?
I just want to hold your hand.

you always buy a $2 newspaper
from that homeless guy on magnolia,
even though you never read it.
you say, "some people need
a little more. money, hope, love."