"I am just loose words hanging on the ends of your lips" -- Pete Wentz
every thought I have of you pervades my memory like a perfect example of a parasite and yet the druglike, codeine nature of it all has this grip on my heart almost as strong as you do (the thought of you is not the same as you). If god saw the way I'd treat you he'd be so jealous that he'd make another sin. In the light, I want to be your shadow. In the dark, I want to be the rays of lamplight falling clumsily over your face (do you make everything lose balance? I swear gravity herself falters at the sound of your voice). In the in between, fading twilight and rising moon, I want to be yours. perhaps that is the least likely to come true of them all. I cannot want you enough for you to want me too. your gene code must be beautiful written in every language. every atom of yours makes me weak in the knees and desperate in the eyes. somehow, I love the way you think more than I love the way you dress. my irises are cobalt and yours are magnets– pulling away feels like warring with my own soul. every birthday wish I've had, I wish I had spent on you.
