why are you anon
I thought about writing you a letter. Because I think I love you. I thought I’d tell you how fun and interesting I think you are. I thought I’d tell you how I think we will get married. I thought I’d tell you how I’d like to cuddle you forever. I thought I’d tell you how I’d like to dance with you, eat breakfast with you, drink coffee with you, watch movies with you, run through city streets with you, laugh with you, argue with you, wait for you, run to you, dive into you. Jump on your back, squeeze you around the waist, hug you from behind and trip over your feet. How I’d like to take photos of you, look at photos of you and lace my fingers through yours. But, you know, I’m just a romantic with an unpredictable mind. You’re far, I’m further and it’s all pretend. I’ve no expectations, just imaginary scenes. And an unrelenting notion that you’re lovely.