It’s pretty fucking simple. You should be with me. All the love songs in the world couldn’t even begin to describe how much I fucking adore you. And I fucking adore you. With all my messed up shit self and the wickedly weird shit I’ve got going on. How do you wake up each fucking day and think that you’re not good enough? You’re more than enough. Your goddamn beauty astounds the shit out of me. I’ll go through hell and back just to be able to look you in the eyes and tell you that you’re beautiful. You don’t even have to hear it. You don’t even have to know I’m fucking there. I just need to be near you and tell you how goddamn adorable you are when you think nobody sees you; the way you cross your legs and tuck a pencil in your ear. It fucking blows my mind. Goddamnit. You’re so perfect, it’s fucking annoying already. No one should be that fucking perfect.
But there you are. There you fucking are. In your goddamn perfect self being amazing as ever without so much as a smile, and you still think that you have to do anything other than exist to melt my heart. I’m telling you, it really is goddamn simple. If you were a font, you’d be fucking bold, because you stand out from everything else. If you were a locked drawer, you’d stay that way if it were up to me because no one would deserve the fucking key and I’ll be the only one who knows what’s really inside you. If you were a book, I’d fucking rip the last pages so that your story won’t end, and I can spend forever figuring you out. And that would be a goddamn pleasure.
So if it really were up to me, you’d be here or I’d be there. In any case, we’d be at the same place at the same time and the rest of the world could go fuck itself.