I am into you, more than you were into her.
I am not saying a yes to your proposal that you lay in front of her while you did your duty in the open hallway, I am being optimistic about your fragile hope and my careful heart.
In my summer, I took a ticket to a phase, and I met who I proudly and legitimately call my Mr. April Love.
Who he is, where he is. Neither do I know, nor does he know.
He is an image my brain, he is a dream I fight for, he is a love in a heartbreaking city, he was my reserved seat, he is the first to write a poem on me, and if we call it love, he is the first and the last of his type I would ever want.
Some phonecalls make you write novels, and some lead you towards your first kiss.
Mine lead me towards a summer novel. ❤
While I still linger in his mind, and I still fight with him time to time, the April love man is somewhere lost in the city of hope.
I don’t want him back, all he was to me a wave of tears and a ray of sundriven love. If I were to say, I loved the way you talked low to me, and I will never forget each time you mentioned me in your amazingly weird conversations. I might say that one day if you are ever intelligent you’ll understand why I pulicaly told everyone about you.
And for the secrets I have in my heart, I wrote them on pages and posts, I have cried, I have been ill, and I have been bad, but it wouldn’t have been without you.
I have loved you. And I guess more than anything you should know that.
I know you were jealous of him, maybe because I was happier with him, but my relation with you will be always simply complicated, if I am the light you are the shadow in my mind, and if I am rain, you are the untimely rainbow I want.
And maybe you should take care of your new girlfriend more, stop worring about me. Or she’ll abuse you more than I did.
Mr. April Love.