I’m the kind of girl whose pockets are stuffed with words of poems contrived in the back of geometry class,
the kind whose jeans always come with innumerable home-made holes I feel no need to mend.
I’m the kind of girl who dreams of pumpkins and coaches and princes and balls and slippers made of glass,
the kind who twists her hair between her fingers and stares out the window every day for hours on end.
You’re the kind of guy who runs a hand through his hair when frustrated but keeps it perfect anyway,
the kind who looks for love in all the quiet places where I just so happen to roam.
You’re the kind of guy who smells of summer dreams and the perfection in a rainy day,
the kind who holds me close and every second I am with him, I feel I’ve finally come home.