Driving to your house, my stomach clenches in a way that makes me accidentally swallow my gum, and I can’t tell if I’m excited, nervous, or scared to hug you hello and goodbye.
I know that there are more than seven ways to misspell my name and that winter tastes best only when the snowflakes are the smallest and I wonder if you will ever hate me.
So many things, so many things
To do before I die
And why do I get lonelier with every ‘I love you’ or ‘I miss you’ and how come I only notice the stars when I hear his voice
And why does the music always sound better when it’s just you and I

And why does it seem that you love things more when they are broken