I don't know.
I've just come to terms with the fact that I might love you.
I locked eyes with you for zero point three seconds.
But in that moment something clicked.
Maybe you have a lover of your own.
Or maybe you're mending scars.
But maybe we could work.
So many people pass by countless opportunities every single day without realising what they are letting slip
Away.
But not me.
I think.
I write.
And that's all I do.
And maybe that's worse.
I keep on thinking about you.
I don't deserve you in my messed up thoughts. Who do I think I am?