Premièrement
For all those who don't take French: premièrement means First.

For Mr. Stephenson and Emily.

You can care for someone and not love them.
But you can’t love someone and not care for them.
It’s a horrible paradox, how can you fall in love only once,
but not know anything about it at such a young age?
You think you can be the judge of it all, with your high and mighty experience.
Your ‘years’ of being together. How much do you really know?
You’re not in love; you know nothing but the plutonic side of love.
You know nothing except the unconditional affection from your parents.

You can misinterpret lust for love, but can you mistake caring for someone for affection?
How is it that someone who you associate every meaning of the word first with, isn’t someone you love?
Why is love that complex. How many facades can something have?
Parents shake their children in anger, but inside are ecstatic to find them alive.
Children lash out in anger when they’re happy;
they delve into depression after being told some of the happiest news of their existence.
How can one emotion have so many layers, that no matter how many you pull away, there’s always something there?

I mean what I said.

I can’t name anyone who has taught me more or opened
my eyes so wide as to nail them open for eternity.
I’ve never felt any sort of sympathy for adults before now.
They’ve got good heads on their shoulders, they can do everything, they’re super heroes right?
But how can someone survive on so little caffeine, put up with me,
and still have the energy to deal with screaming children; not be angry?
Who knew adults were people too?

Their wings just hidden in case of emergency.

People thought you were different. People hated you.
People still hate you. And I just play along.
I appreciate your extensive knowledge of U2 and RENT;
your silly stories about your children who have eyes as bright
as the clear water that runs down the mountains like tears.
I’ve never appreciated an opinion more than I do when it comes to yours;
and I may not love you, but I care for you, and always will.

Hopefully.

In five years, where will I be?
How do I know how I feel now if it’s just the beginning?
I feel like everything in my life is unconventional.
From my birth to my view of the world,
I do everything it seems in chronological order,
with the mind of someone twice my age.

I hope to meet someone half as enlightening as you are down the road.

Yours is the only advice I’ll every take, yours is the only voice I’ll listen to.

Tell me I am wrong and I will walk away.

How can it be, this paradox. Of coexisting without ever meeting;
will it be the same down the line. But nothing is forever, everything is only for now.
Don’t be sad that it’s over, only content with that it happened.

Reviews, please.