I don't know how you make me feel,

I don't know how you make me feel,

Am I hanging from the sill or perched on the edge?

Am I really who I think I am?

Or is this all an illusion?

That would make sense,

For you're way too perfect,

Too good,

Too… right.

And the thought, just the thought,

That perfect you likes imperfect me,

Is just so…

Odd?

Overwhelming?

Strange?

Right?

I just really don't know.

And just how do you expect me to?

Your gaze, through your…

Wait, no, I can't think…

Your expression melts me to pieces,

It's just so…

Imperfectly perfect.