You make me want to pull up my covers and think about you till I get sick of the sound of your name
but I never will.
I've exhausted my allies, they're all sick of hearing about whether or not I chose to wave to you in the hallway today.
It's like you've tattoo'd yourself on my tongue, so every time I open my mouth to speak all I have to talk about is the desire to pursue the idea of you more.
How much of me do you want before you actually choose me?
Before you lend me your thoughts and I mind them for you?
Is all I am an idea to you, a passing thought, nothing more than a daydream? Because if so,
please
just
tell
me