I fidget because the look in your eyes is smoldering. And quite frankly, I want to know what it is in your life that brings you fear the most. I like boys who use precise diction and say "I love you" to their mother at the end of a phone-call, especially when they repeat themselves four times to make sure she's heard. My guilty pleasures consist of reading books that I should not be reading. I am dissatisfied with my able to be reached yet so far away dreams. I dream more during the day than I do at night. It is too late, I am already in-love with you, Tom Waits. I am the most un-punctual person you'll ever meet. I am the worst at texting back, replying to e-mails and answering phone calls. Social communication is not my thing. I'll write you twenty-three poems if you ask me to. I treat myself to Starbucks more than I should. I worked hard for this four dollars and eighty-five cents cup of joe, I ****** well deserve it. I ****** well am a mess. I find comfort in oblivion. Do you ever cry just to feel the mystery of liquid on your skin? Do you ever bleed just to make sure that your body is alive? Do you know just how sad you truly are? Do you know that you're the loveliest mind I've encountered by far? I hope, I hope you do. Oh, but it's better if you don't.