the things we ask ourselves.
it's not my style to get involved in petty 7th grade girl type question and answer sessions relating to relationships.
i couldn't tell you what i want. actually, i could. but it doesn't seem to want me. so there's not much left fighting for.
the whole hopeless romantic, random love notes, beautiful poetry, sweatshirts smelling of boy, goofy 25cent-machine plastic rings, kisses on the forehead, hand holding, kissing in the rain, tackling each other in the snow, jumping in a pool with your clothes on, watching a movie and eating pizza on a cold and raining friday night, all around typical chilvary and courtship. the kind i had imagined and the kind i was waiting for.
could i have had it?...
who knows? possibly.
who'll find out? hopefully me.
i couldn't tell you what i want. actually, i could. but it doesn't seem to want me. so there's not much left fighting for.
the whole hopeless romantic, random love notes, beautiful poetry, sweatshirts smelling of boy, goofy 25cent-machine plastic rings, kisses on the forehead, hand holding, kissing in the rain, tackling each other in the snow, jumping in a pool with your clothes on, watching a movie and eating pizza on a cold and raining friday night, all around typical chilvary and courtship. the kind i had imagined and the kind i was waiting for.
could i have had it?...
who knows? possibly.
who'll find out? hopefully me.