This came out of nowhere,
and it feels like the worst time,
but when I see your face,
time seems to slip away.

You most certainly aren’t perfect,
definitely not for me,
but when I see your face,
the words just flow out of me.

I know I will regret this one day,
and I feel like you might, too,
but when I see your face,
that day seems eons away.

Relationships don’t have to be romantic for them to be beautiful.
It’s those little things about you that they remember because they’ve actually paid attention.
A mention of painful shoes and they know which one it is.
A mention of a specific friend and they remember me talking about them.
A complaint about a sad day and them knowing how to make me feel better.

These things seem so little, but they are so much.
They are the culmination of something you started a while back,
The realization that they like you as much as you like them,
Things don’t have to be romantic for them to be perfect,
They just need to, well, be.

I thought I wasn't nostalgic about this
Until I saw the empty apartment.
The spaces where my posters used to be,
The small kitchen I shared.

Tiptoeing in at 3 am so as to not wake up the roommate,
Sleeping through the same,
Laughing through the night with friends,
Avoiding conflict while making more memories

All these memories are there in my head,
Just waiting to be relived,
In a new place, in a new home
Some things have changed, but definitely not all.

Love is universal, they say.
Then why does a kiss incite such a riot?
How does one live their life,
When they're too busy not getting killed by media or by society?

Tired of being a label, tired of being shunned,
Tired of seeing the numbers increase.
There go the people trying not to react to the Orlando news,
Because if you're not straight, you're just one of "those" people to them.

America is a land of opportunity, a land of hope,
Judging from the events, I guess that's true only if you're straight.
How do you display your Pride,
If you're playing a game of Truth or Die?

If this is the perfect life, then I do not want it,
Because apparently I would be just a statistic.

It’s the way you say you’re not perfect
As if so many people have told you that before
As I deny your statement, you emphatically defend it,
With examples one hundred.

It’s the way we have tons of inside jokes,
Including them in our normal conversations are easy as pie,
If we have friends with us, I have to explain
With stories one hundred.

It’s the way you want me to meet your friends,
As if it’s not even an issue,
Maybe it isn’t in your head, but my head is spinning
With assumptions one hundred.

It’s the way I’m so lost about you,
Not sure how to define you in my head,
Maybe I should let these thoughts to rest, however
With doubts one hundred.

Wouldn't it be amazing
If we could just
"Right click -> delete"
The feelings we have
That are bringing us down?
Oh, the heartache
That could be spared.