When I’m struggling to write…
I like to think about what I’d say to a crush.

I only recently caught a disease called a break up, and there’s no cure for a love cut short.
Only Pain killers, symptom minimizers, synthesizers for all the oxytocin you’ve been short on…
And the still sodden service receipts for all the shoulders you’ve had to lean on.

But crushes don’t wanna hear that, so let me try something a little sweeter.

So… I think you’re so pretty, like really, really pretty. Like so pretty I would never say it to your face!
Like I imagine your line is long and your time is short, I imagine you’re busy being pretty and stuff…

I imagine... sunshine compliments your character…
I imagine watching you listen to music. Seeing the corners of your mouth dimple and dance and the sound of passion striking the vocal chords of the lyrical legends we dreamt of one day overtaking.
I imagine getting to sing with you… I imagine disturbing the floor boards. Heart beats like hi-hats, the ground beneath a dance mat, we’d toe the gap between us. Every inebriated motion, a mishap waiting to be laughed at. I wanna laugh with you.

I wanna watch elation escape your frame. An exaltation so insane you feel it kicking at your walls. Laughter like squalls, like wind, like fire, like… all the **** I wanna say.
It’s all just hot air, it floats away… and the problem still remains, I’d never say all this to your face.
The problem still remains that every sweet nothing is a paper crane hung from ceilings hoping one day to soar in your skies…
So, I’ll sit here… and polish your shine from a distance far enough to sustain a steady heart.

This is not a hope… or a plea, more just catharsis for those tired from shouldering the apprehensive affections that the best years of your life will present to you.

It’s okay not be flower picking. There will be times better spent watching them bloom.