You're beautiful in the morning. And quiet.
You're drunk at night. And that's the only way you allow me into your mind.
I just kissed you and I was so afraid I will forget your pretty face. I really hope I never do. I don't think I ever will.
Your eyes are greenthenbluethengreenagain. I love the awkward way your facial hair grows. Your long arms and enormous hands. Your black boxers.
Even when we're walking on the street, and you're ahead of me (you'realwaysaheadofme,yourlengsarelongandi'mshortandinsecure) -- every time you turn around to check if I'm alright and you smile, I swear I die a little bit.
I spent last night crying. Because I will never understand (nor will I accept) the fact that you're comfortable with being unhappy. That's a lie. It's got to be a lie.
You're so beautiful. You a re so so beauti ful.
You're talking to me right now, and you smile, and then concentrate on your computer again and man I just want to kiss you. Hug you. Kiss you again.
But instead, I'll die for the 100th time tonight.