My sins are written on paper, my sadness printed on my bones. I am the storyline of a bad movie and the plot of your favorite book. Intense and saddening, but above all, really messed up. I crave what's too out of my league. You are gold and rubies and good poetry, and my prose lacks your name. I am nothing but a whisper between the trees and you're the meadow under the warmth of the Sun.