There's only so many ways to describe the way you love that special someone, and, baby, I've used them all.
I've talked about the butterflies in the stomach.
I've talked about time standing still.
I've used all the analogies in the book to describe your beauty.
Your hipnotizing eyes.
Your bright smile.
Your delicate skin.
It's all been done.
All the clichés have been applied to you, time and time again.
I can't write you a poem because it ends up being the same exact words arranged differently.
And I'm desperate.
I'm desperate to reinvent myself, and come up with something fresh and new.
Something romantic that hasn't been done before.
Not the roses.
Not the poems and songs.
Not the stroll through the park.
Something to finally express all these I'm feeling in me I can't seem to let out.
I want you to realize how you affect every single aspect of my life.
I want you to feel about me how I feel about you.
But again I expect too much out of this.
Out of something so uncertain.
Maybe I should stop.
Or should I?
I don't know, and I'm not sure if I ever will.
You seemed to like me once.
Could it happen again?
Or did you realize that I'm not good enough for you?
You wouldn't be the first.
See now how this started with one thing, and mutated into another?
But it's still all about you.
It's always about you.