I can't get you out of my head.
And no that's not a means to an end.
Its the start of a braceful beginning.
Or an irrotational sense of my state of mind which is questionable around this time.


3:52 and I'm still thinking of you.
If love is defined as constantly admiring anothers lyfe and worrying about their well being then why can't I call my feeling for you love?
Is it because you won't let me?
It seems the closer I strive the further I get pushed away.
It's like swimming to shore feeling you're almost there only to notice the waves swept you to a perilous trench,
Coated in black ink.
But no matter how many times I'm swept away by that tidal wave it never discourages me.
Because only I see that beautiful weeping mermaid alone on her glistening island of black ink.
Just let me wash it off.
And together we'll live in your treasure.


And darling we might not be pirates
But we might be peasants.
And I may not bare any sort of sensational fruit.
But I bare presents.
In the form of my love.
The strongest communication I can join your communion of common relation.
And together we'll strive for that feeling of common knowledge and shared intentions.
Common strife and shared dimensions.
Because we may not be peasants for much longer.
We've been plungering and sailing this ship of love long enough.
That I'm sure we're pirates with greedy ambitions.
And tedious repetition of unknown religions.
And one day we'll be rich off of this boat we've made from out love.
And one day we can stop sailing and settle down.
But until that day.
Our love is yet to be found.
So let's stop waiting around,
And set sail.