5 Years Time

It's time to get sappy again.

So if you prefer your Friday nights to be way awesomer than the proceedings,

I suggest you escort yourself to some other web address.

Well.

How sappy to get?

And where to begin?

(I'd say, really sappy...?)

It's ridiculous how much I like you, sir.

It's silly how I think of you,

And how I hope, deep in my naive teenage heart, that you think about me too.

But it's ok if you don't, I completely understand. I really do.

I love when you muss up your hair when you're thinking

And then you'll do that exasperated hands-covering-your-face thing

Before you try to start a sentence three different ways.

It's so cute I could die.

And you poke fun at how OCD I am,

And you agree that Shakespeare wasn't all that awesome.

And "Heroin" is your favorite Velvet Underground song.

I've always wondered what other songs by them you like,

Do you like Lou Reed or Nico better?

Do you find "Venus in Furs" to be crazy-awesome?

Do you like "Pale Blue Eyes"?

And were you lying to me when you said you were reading something and your mind erred to me, and how I should read it, too?

(My own, over-romanticized language is used here, of course.)

The fact that you're musically inclined also makes me die a little bit, too.

And sometimes I forget you are,

And then I'll remember and it's just this wave of "Wow, he's even cooler than I thought."

And I really, really hope that who you're with

Finds you as lovely as I do,

And I hope they love you a lot,

Because really, they should.

You're sort of clumsy and gawky and awkward,

And you've got a laugh that's a mite bit peculiar.

(But so do I, so it's ok... you've heard one of my deranged giggle-fits before.)

But seriously,

When you're quiet and intent on something,

And you speak in that quiet voice you have,

That I've mentioned before, but alas,

It just kills me.

("Shot through the heart, and you're too late!" The moment begged for Bon Jovi.)

It takes a lot of composure to keep from just sort of staring at you for a prolonged period of time.

But I still catch myself doing that sometimes.

Why, oh why, why

Does life have to work like it does?

If I could have my way,

You'd like me, too.

And then we'd be an "us",

And things would be marvelous.

In my mind,

I like to romanticize "us".

I also like to pretend you wear plaid.

But that's weird,

Now isn't it?

Ok.

This post has gone on long enough.

If you're reading this,

Congratulations,

You have survived another rant from the naive and "love-ravaged" mind of this teenager.

If I could reward you for making it this far,

I would.

Goodnight, adieu!!

I realized, I hope nobody knows you well enough to deduce that I'm talking about you.

Yikes...