i get intoxicated by the smell of Sharpies at 2am and the sound of your voice on the phone and you're so ******* tired but you refuse to hang up first because of some line you read in a book
we would be the perfect love story, we really would
because you're the one who laughs at my corny jokes and you're the one who brings me chocolate when i'm sad and you're the one who taught me how to write poems in a way and i love you so much but you must not see it
i thought it was a phase, i really did and you probably think i'm over you (because i told you that) and sometimes I just wish that all hell would break loose so that you could see how much you mean to me
*you always did have a thing for disasters; blinding hurricanes of tears and imperfect tsunamis of missed opportunities and lost love