I think I've been in love

I mean, not that kind of love,

.

I've been in love with music

and I've been in love with the way

my mother laughs

and I've been in love with the

sun on my back.

.

Right now,

that's all the love I have to give.

I don't want to give it to some

nasty boy that will just throw it away.

I'm content with the little things.

.

But, maybe,

.

I think I've been in love.

It could be that kind of love,

because his smile warm and my stomach always

hurts because I laugh so much nowadays.

(also partly the butterflies

that decide to have a seizure

every time he looks at me).

.

His hands are always everywhere.

In my hair,

on my waist,

other places.

.

But I don't know,

is this love?

What is love, anyway?

The books describe it as magical

and I don't think I have that.

.

Maybe just a spark.

.

Is that what I want?

.

God, my head hurts.

(is love supposed to do that?)

.

I think we're forever.

.

He's Romeo with his grand gestures

and he's John Bender,

holding up that radio

and singing me love songs.

.

I'll dance to that,

stardust flowing out of my hair

and onto the floor.

.

I'm dizzy because

everything is moving so fast,

the music picks up,

blurry vision,

only catching a smile or two

from her to him,

a secret look,

whispers that stop once

I come up.

.

God, I should've known.

.

I think I'm falling.

.

Not the good kind of falling, like

into a pile of leaves or

jumping off a swing.

The kind of fall that you can't see the bottom, the end,

and its so so dark and cold and lonely,

and i'd give anything to be happy again.

.

I can't believe I let a boy do this to me.

.

Especially a boy who is so

terrible he'd break apart the most

sacred of things:

best friends.

.

And it's so hard to be

in love with those little things again,

after I had it.

The real kind of love,

the one that makes you sing like magic

and dance like a maniac.

.

Really,

I just want to be.

Not in love.

Or alone.

Just be.