Oh, oh let me take you by the hand. Away from here, to another land.

All the things you said to me today changed my perspective in every way, hey. These things count, mean so much to me. If you want me, I'll be there.

I like it when you breathe heavily, which is all the time, and the way you make noises when you're tired. I know that I would fit perfectly with you, though we disagree because I'm stubborn and you're arrogant. I'll never show you this. It's so very embarrassing, badly written and repetitive, yet if I didn't do it I'd let it out another way and that would be surely detrimental. Here, no one knows who I am, or ever reads it, so it's safer.

I've thought of kissing you a million times when we're holding hands in your bed but then I wonder if you'd be shocked and hate me. I used to worry about it souring everything but I think now that we understand each other well, and that though it would end one day, we would be friends after a while.

Then again, I know that you are proud of not judging by appearances, but your last girlfriend was very pretty. It is entirely plausible for me to think that you are pitifully indulging me. That would be horrible; I detest being an object of pity. Hate me, but do not pity me.

I sometimes think of drawing your and my initials together in a book, enclosed by a heart, as a teenage crush, as an amulet. It would never work because you don't believe in luck; neither do I, let's come to it, and both of us find that sort of thing pathetic.