Too easily. Too quickly.
Far too quickly.
I am moved by words not meant for me.
So I will tell the girl who writes the beautifulterrible poems on Deviant Art I love her, or at least I will think it and wish it and say it to myself so hard and so fast and in a single breath that in hushed tones she would not have heard me at all even if my lips at been at her earlobe, midfeast.
I love you I love you I love you.
Voicing it would only make me feel foolish. So I sit, stewing in my unrequited love for wonderlustqueen, the girl with beautiful words that I imagine in her beautiful imaginary voice, whispering to me these beautiful things between whiteyellowed sheets.
I won’t send the note.
I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.
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