I push a pin through the thin film of silence and listen to your thoughts hiss out with the air behind it. I wonder how many things people don't say. Because I know I don't say that I love you, and that I've never been more in love with anything than your laugh, or that I miss you always, or that I still know all your favorite candies, or that I don't exactly want to get over you. I know what you think and don't say doesn't match up to that exactly but that's okay. I can keep admiring the soft curve of your nose and lips when you're smiling. You won't know that I think of it whenever the sun comes out.

You, you're like the sun coming out. I know you'd argue against that, but up close the sun is as hostile as it gets, nothing can touch it. But from afar it's so beautiful and want and bright- and what I'm saying is you're not as bad as you think you are. And I need you. Just like every rose on this earth needs the light.

Maybe it's all cliché. But ****'s cliché for a reason, you know? Love is a very collective feeling. It's different for everyone, but so collective. I'm sure I've been on the receiving end of the way I look at you, but I wasn't looking in that direction.

And you're not necessarily looking in mine either. So what I'm saying is you wouldn't know love if it stared you in the face. Because it is, it has been. But it's okay, it's better to burn out than fade away, and I've been looking at the sun too long to know if it's looking back anyway.