oh, i'd never be able to compare.

no story, broad or short-lived, could

measure up to your vast adventures

i'm so jealous of.

you've always told me to be straight forward with you, dear,

but it's something i've never been good at.

i suppose i can give it a try, however, and you'd see,

that somedays, i hate you, and i can't bear to see your face,

but other days, the seemingly better ones, i melt at your touch.

when your silky skin graces mine and our lips crash and collide,

i've never felt so at home-

and that means a lot, since i'm not comfortable in my own skin.

but you are.

you are so at ease with the world, and honestly,

there's no reason you shouldn't be.

if i looked as charming as you, i'd flaunt it too.

i like when i'm pressed against the frosty window,

breathing in winter's inhale, and it smells crisp and clean,

flowing like you, majestic and easily mistaken for pure.