(shoot me now please?)
what I mean is,
you're horrible,
I'm glad you're gone,
because you make me sickeningly happy
and when you leave, I fold to every damn cliche.
I personify them. A giant walking cliche.
I count days, hours and minutes till I can see you again
Food doesn't taste as good as it used to
I walk the same paths and pretend you're here
I capitulate to the butterflies that explode in my stomach when I think of you.
my imagination is handicapped by the what-ifs and maybes that I'm afraid of even considering
