to my muse:

I thought I had everything under control before I met you.
Then you came in, saw dimly lit candles and decided to turn all my lights on.
You accepted my terms and conditions, signed the waiver before you even got a chance to read them.
You turned all of my knobs like you had been here before or someone slipped you the blue print.
I was speechless because this isn’t your everyday pub, it’s a speakeasy and I just changed the password so who told you?
Who told you what to say and how to say it?
This game was a prerelease and you already had cheat codes.
I want to say it was beginner’s luck, a fluke, or an accident because I don’t want to believe that you’re that good.
I don’t want to believe I’m no different than everyone before me.
I want to believe in coincidence. serendipity. fate.
I want to think that there’s a first left for me even when there’s been so many before me.
How could it be me?
How could you automatically know I was your puzzle piece when I was in completely different box?
Take a second and think about it before you answer or don’t at all.
None of it will matter, I’ll want you regardless.
That’s the only thing I don’t want to question