sweet like cinnamon

I just can’t get rid of the feeling that I am a bad person with a good heart. I always want to do the right thing but in the end I’m f*cking things up. In the end I’m always f*cking things up.

I guess my life hasn’t always been happy, or easy, or exactly what I wanted. At a certain point, I just have to try not to think too much about certain things, or else they’ll break my heart.

For you, I was a chapter. For me, you were the book.

“Solo lo voy a hacer para demostrarte que SÍ puedo y que te equivocas”

I often wonder if I invade your thoughts the way you invade mine. Cancerous in growth, malignant from the beginning. You make my heart sing and my guts sick. You’re beautiful and I can’t help but love you.

My eyes aren’t mysterious and I won’t lure you in with my quiet words. I laugh a little too loud and enjoy Friday nights at home alone. I prefer not to show a lot of skin and I’m far from promiscuous. I like my lemonade without the vodka and my hair isn’t always perfectly shaped. I’m not a riot. I’m not rebellious. But I promise to love you with what all that I am. I’ll take you to the park where we can walk through the woods and push each other on the swings like we were 7 years old again. We can go out to eat and blow straw wrappers at each other and laugh until we can’t feel our cheeks. I’ll hold your hand in the car and sing you my favorite song, off key and on repeat. I’ll laugh at all of your jokes, even the ones I don’t understand. I’ll make your heart light and young again. And I’ll be, for you, the best that I can.