You make me gush out giggles, I feel the butterflies, I feel them


They fly.





And all I can do is smile when I see you, pretend that you are mine





Pretend that every glance where we meet matters
and that someday, I'll be in your arms,
your awkward stance, that reassuring smile,
your hand slightly holding mine, but not too long to
make anything too certain.

You let out a chuckle, and tell me words I can't escape.

Yet, I can't anyway. I'm stuck.

Empedocles

Every time I feel an inch of jealousy, I just tell myself that I can actually do better than you - and it makes me feel a lot better; because I can.

I realize this sometimes and wonder why I hurt so easily - because obviously I deserve a lot more than I can at times.

And so what if you talk to or flirt with other girls - haven't you before we even got together? So why am I feeling so fucking vulnerable? I shouldn't. Because - in the end, sure - some of them will be cuter or prettier or hotter or skinnier, but ultimately, I am going to make a fuckload of money in the future - and you'll end up with some dumb "cutesy-dutsy" Asian whore and live from welfare. Yeah. Fuck yeah, bitch.

Empedocles