Love me.

In the most rational way, I say;

Is this ever going to work?

Are you ever going to just love me?

Love me.

Or do you?

Or you do?

But you do?

From through these poems and silly things.

Through all these songs and made up things.

No, through my eyes, and my fingertips.

But that love fell,

and I'm still sitting at the bottom.

Looking up,

wondering?

What?

is

Love?

Am I defining this wrong?

Or throw away that definition.

You can not define something 

that looks and tastes like...

love.

Love.

What a stupid word.

It's not a word.

But a pit in the stomach.

A mad sprint through a thunderstorm.

And weeping on your bed,

when you're actually nothing but happy.

So goddamn happy that you can't be just that.

Something must be wrong.

Why is your stomach in knots 

and your mind 12 years ahead of you?

After 12 stupid days.

Your hand holds my face and you're happy.

To be;

Lying there.

Next to me.

As the clock strikes,

ONE. Two. Three.

Love.

You think you love me.

I know you do.

Until I say,

I love you too.