i can tell you about every boy
who’s ever held a piece of my heart
in his hands:

I.     my first love (or so i thought):
       the one who sang all the right notes
       and kissed all the right places,
       sending my body a-humming,
       the one whose goodbye
       sounded like a sweet melody,
       the one who had me believing
       i had stopped the music,
       that i was at fault

II.   the one that never really saw me:
      always looking over my head
      to the next best thing,
      always full up with big city dreams
      and castles in his skies

III.   the boy who couldn’t pick me
       out of an empty room:
       the one who grabbed my hand
       and held so tight
       that i almost forgot it hurt,
       the one who left and came back
       like nothing had changed
       when i tried my hardest to forget,
       when i’d promised myself
       to never be a second choice again

IV.  my one-night stand:
       the one i’d spent years
       daydreaming of and, in minutes,
       had reduced me to half my size,
       because i thought love existed
       somewhere within the thread count
       or in the feeling of the cotton,
       the silk, against my bare legs

V.   you:
       but our story hasn’t ended yet,
       only just beginning,
       and if i could pick up every penny
       off of every sidewalk,
       i would,
       just to toss them all over my shoulder
       into a wishing well
       and make our forever come true