this is stupid.
i alternately spout philosophical jamesdean shit and
cuddle up to you to close my eyes and sing petty little
bonnie raitt blues songs to you when i know you're
i alternately spout philosophical backstreetboys shit and
spend my evenings trying to figure out how to tell you
the truth. the words come so much easier when i know you're
day one --
meant nothing to me except for a lovely little
First Date Syndrome and
day two --
left me spouting more philosophical shit but
just the same i kissed you hello/goodbye
day twenty-one --
you held my hand and i didn't pull away
day seventy-three --
you told me you loved me and i thought "shit" but
all that came out was "okay."
i fell asleep in your arms kissed your hesitant mouth and
you helped me to the car in the absolutely freezing rain
you held onto me and i knew you thought i was your girl
but rather than spout philosophical shit i just wished that
i had a cigarette and
didn't look you in the eye.
i told them that i would set you straight and
explain that i was not your girl.
you listened to every word but the right ones never come until you're