I remember you. I can't forget.
You clean sailboats for a living,
and you love it.
You're already who you're meant to be.
And I'm just wandering from
state of being
to state of being
trying to figure out
how to be the one for you.
Your favorite color is blue.
You told me to remember that, I do.
You were born in June,
the 13th.
We didn't know each other yet when you turned
17.
I know you probably look at me as being
so reckless,
for a 15 year old it's probably
not okay.
We knew each other by my birthday,
late September.
I guess we weren't on good terms then,
and I wished to see you when I blew out the candles.
It was kind of dumb, my wish didn't come true
anyway.
Now what are we?
We're hundreds of different types
of oppressed emotions,
battling each other all at once.
And to put it quite simply,
I love you
wholeheartedly.
Until there's nothing left,
I will love you.
Regardless of whether you love me back,
even if you push me away,
even if you love somebody else,
I know that I won't be able to stop.
I'm sorry for not being able to
give up on you.