You kissed me in my kitchen and I laughed.
I looked into your eyes with that devilish grin you loved and ran away. I forgot to call for a week or two. You were so nervous then.
Eight months later and I'm shaking you over and over again to simply wake up each morning. And you fight it like you're thirteen years old on a Sunday morning begging your mom not to make you go to church just this one time.

And my love for you is non refundable and I can't put my finger on why. The math doesn't always seem to add up as I silently weep in bed for the thousandth time, but you're too high to notice. I've never liked crying in front of other people anyways.