It's not just the sound of your voice that I love. Your accent reminds me of my best friend's, and sometimes when you speak I can hear her. Sometimes, I don't want to.
I left home when I was eighteen. All of my possessions fit into a few small boxes, but not the chip on my shoulder or the baggage my parents left me with. I've struggled to carry them both around for years. I've had no success thus far.
I am a professional pretender. I'll tell you that it didn't hurt when she left me, it doesn't matter that my parents never saw me play, she wouldn't have stayed if she had known, and it was ok... I didn't like that color anyway. When I do, don't believe me.
If you continue to treat me this way I'll fall for you, guaranteed. Probably far too quickly. It's going to scare the shit out of me when I do, so I would appreciate it if you could refrain from running just long enough for me to learn to stand on knees made of jello.
I miss the way that your fingers feel when locked with my own. The deepest conversation I've ever had was between your eyes and mine, and I meant every word I wrote in that letter. I think.
Never in my life have I believed that I was broken. Not even when they insisted I should, but at night I find myself searching through line ups and missing persons, praying that none of them will be there; those thirty something tiny faces I grew up with.
You are beautiful. Time is my most valued possession, and I can't wait to give it all to you. What we are doing terrifies me, but I like the way it makes my heart skip a beat. Honestly, you are everything I've ever wanted.