I died daily but you resurrected me with every good morning.
I'll tell you that love plucked me like a guitar.
Love made me feel beautiful, but I only got played.

I'll tell you that love cannot do math
because if he did, he'd know that
subtracting himself from the equation would leave me a 0.
I'll tell you that love is a game of tag.
They always end up running away.
I'll tell you that love has engraved his name on my soul
and when I die I'll only see the mark that he's left on me.