i don't mean to scare you, but i think that somewhere along the way, i fell in love with you. something caught my eye and it was like a fire in my limbs. you bit your lip and ran your palms over your thighs, dripping gasoline over my skin like i was an old mustang with ****** gas mileage.

i'm sorry that i still can't tell you i love you. i want you to warm my ice in the palms of your hands, but i don't think i'm cold enough to ask you yet. i don't mind sitting here in the snow, even though i left my leather jacket in your room.

i like making you smile. and i hate it when people blush. i hate it, i promise. i don't know what to do when scarlet crawls over their cheeks and down their necks and i have to imagine it drifting across their chests. but now you've set heat all over my skin and there's a thrill when you touch my hands and all of this has got me revving but there's nowhere to put my right foot. what am i supposed to do with that?

i'm constantly imagining what it'd feel like to know you. i watch the way the glow of the fireworks makes your skin look red and green and purple, and i wonder what your hands would feel like on my hips with no fabric to separate us, and i imagine telling you i love you over a picnic lunch of whiskey and spilled red hair dye.

because i hate this feeling of two-ness. sleeping next to you and running my fingers through your hair isn't enough when you smell so warm and i am so so cold.

you left my heart out in the rain. it's your responsibility to warm it by your fire.

i hate the clichés just as much as you, but you have to believe me when i say that there's fire in me, and it's burning hotter for you than for anything i've loved before.

when you found me in that used car lot i was already scratched up, and now i'm bursting into flames on the side of the road

and you're walking away like you always knew this would happen.