If you want to count on me, let me keep it a buck, my dear I’ll keep
it a hundred with you; I’m a man they'll call a dog, but my bark stays
humble… maybe that’s what happens when you grow up tied to a
tree with a bark harder than yours. Yet even from the roots, I can see
the rise of you — that quiet hill I keep climbing. And really, she's got
those good heels; a hill-figure climb, always reaching for the high
places of her heart.
_And me?_
I’m somewhere round the corner, still circling for love like a man
looking for a good parking in a neighbourhood that never has space.
“Oh **** you mind if I park?” But my tyre already blew from
driving loops around her — round and round, like my courage
wearing thin. Crack the window a little — I know that’s your heart.
I know it gets smoky in there; you’ve kissed people with your lungs
before, now you're leaving me breathless just watching you breathe.
And the plans… oh, the Plan B’s, have expired. The backup plans I
kept saving for “one day,” regrets for the morning-after; for taking
too long to take your hand, we’re starting to become “old friends,”
a phrase that tastes like dust and a lot of missed chances.
But if I’d held your gaze a little longer, maybe the truth would’ve
spilled that secret spark you hid so well. Maybe you could’ve liked
me back. Or maybe those feelings sprinted off when I stood still too
long.
Love is a play, and I don’t follow the script so well; I miss hints like
a man who can’t even spot a stain on a white page. Still, let's write a
different love story — a corporate romance, slide-deck chemistry.
Share your screen with me; I’ll screenshot the moments where I
almost look brave, the scenes where I almost shoot my shot
and don’t shake.
If it’s even worth a shot. My bullets are a little dull, a little rusty —
loaded with the breathless hope of a hopeless romantic trying to
aim for love without breaking his own heart.
Dec 2, 2025
Dec 2, 2025 at 5:22 PM UTC
If you want to count on me, let me keep it a buck, my dear I’ll keep
it a hundred with you; I’m a man they'll call a dog, but my bark stays
humble… maybe that’s what happens when you grow up tied to a
tree with a bark harder than yours. Yet even from the roots, I can see
the rise of you — that quiet hill I keep climbing. And really, she's got
those good heels; a hill-figure climb, always reaching for the high
places of her heart.
_And me?_
I’m somewhere round the corner, still circling for love like a man
looking for a good parking in a neighbourhood that never has space.
“Oh **** you mind if I park?” But my tyre already blew from
driving loops around her — round and round, like my courage
wearing thin. Crack the window a little — I know that’s your heart.
I know it gets smoky in there; you’ve kissed people with your lungs
before, now you're leaving me breathless just watching you breathe.
And the plans… oh, the Plan B’s, have expired. The backup plans I
kept saving for “one day,” regrets for the morning-after; for taking
too long to take your hand, we’re starting to become “old friends,”
a phrase that tastes like dust and a lot of missed chances.
But if I’d held your gaze a little longer, maybe the truth would’ve
spilled that secret spark you hid so well. Maybe you could’ve liked
me back. Or maybe those feelings sprinted off when I stood still too
long.
Love is a play, and I don’t follow the script so well; I miss hints like
a man who can’t even spot a stain on a white page. Still, let's write a
different love story — a corporate romance, slide-deck chemistry.
Share your screen with me; I’ll screenshot the moments where I
almost look brave, the scenes where I almost shoot my shot
and don’t shake.
If it’s even worth a shot. My bullets are a little dull, a little rusty —
loaded with the breathless hope of a hopeless romantic trying to
aim for love without breaking his own heart.
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