Since when did I transition from gaining keen
awareness of this hazy infatuation boiling
within me then realizing, hardly admitting, that
I'm so deep into a world where everything I
know already exists, prominently so, but your
entire existence seems to be the only thing that matters.

You're not the only thing that matters, I know,
I know, but at this age, at this point in time, every
single star is guiding me to a path directed to you,
and I'll tell myself, who am I to resist such delicious
reverence, who do I assume to be if not but to follow
my heart for once and never mind the logic, the
metaphysics, the rationality—who ******* cares about
consequences when you made me feel as though I
can go against all Gods and the angels are behind me
cheering.

But you're not the only thing that matters, I'll scream, I'll
thrash, I'll tell myself over and over and over again, because
it seems that's what you're whispering inside your head while
you're kissing her to forget the taste of my name.

You're not the only thing that matters, and I had to learn
that the hard way. I was reckless and unwavering,
plunging to a world of complete madness, convinced
that I was crazy enough—crazy for you, to get through.
I lost sight of who I am, and the universe was unforgiving
towards fools who dare to forget.

You're not the only thing that matters. I just wish you're mine.