How am I supposed to tell you that I want to be
more than all the pretty girls that you always see,
more than the words that came out of your mouth,
more than all the places that you love to go at the south,
more than the notes that you always play on the piano,
more than your favorite word 'hello',
more than the songs that you love to sing,
more than that favorite thing you always bring,
more than the sky full of stars,
more than the cords that you string on your guitar,
more than the pictures that you always paint,
more than the cupcakes that you always bake,
more than the images that the clouds could ever make,
more than all your friends that you're with
and more than the air that we breathe
-

when she meant more to you
than what you would ever think of me.