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i wrote this before you told me you loved me:
"it would be really nice to know a boy who would walk me to class.
and hold my hand.
and listen to my innermost thoughts, without divulging them to every inquisitive ear.
and take just a second out of their time to look me in the eye, and let me know that i'm not just some other girl.
and fleetingly brush up against me in public.
and squeeze my arm when they're thinking about me.
and want to to know everything about me, including the parts that aren't magazine-glossy and appealing.
and tell me no, and mean it.
and tell me yes, and mean it.
and hold me when i'm not expecting it.
but, you'll do."
you've made me regress back to junior high.
rather, you've motivated me to do so.
how ironic, considering all the stock you refuse to put in freud.
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