we sit on white roofs and carve our names into the wood.
your handwriting is much better than mine, and i am jealous but only for a second because you make me feel like i am the world like i am everything and nothing and all that is in between
like i am the flowers that grow outside my bedroom window unimportant to some but appreciated by many
like i am the tattoo hidden on the inside of a wrist or at the start of the collarbone invisible to all and shown to the ones who see it for what it truly means
y'know, i've never actually been in love. am i doing a good job at pretending i have?