I'm not really mad
That a year ago I realized I was in love with you.

I'm not really mad
That you look at me like I light up the world.

I'm not really mad
That I can't even have you because she got there first.

I'm not really mad
That this whole situation is happening to the both of us.

No I'm not mad about any of that.

What I'm mad about
Is that you got past all my walls
and sliced into my chest
(really it was waiting for you to come inside)
and you cracked open my third rib
(with the jokes that you made and the way you smile at me)
and you took your thumb nail
(the one that plucks the guitar strings to my favorite songs)
and you etched your name so small on my heart
(I'll never forget it you really didn't have to do that)
and replaced the rib with so much care
(but with the smallest piece of tape you could find)
That I didn't even realize you had done anything
Until one day I looked in the mirror
And every word you've said was written on me
With hearts and flowers and all those lame things that we laugh at associated with love
And I couldn't wash them off in the shower no matter how hard I scrubbed.
(it's been a year and I'm starting to worry I'll never be clean again)

So I'm not mad that life has led me in this direction.

I'm just mad that it took us so long.