It's Just a Poetry Book

Who Knows anymore

Tarot cards. I'm sure I was telling you about them in the other chapter, about how they can sort of guess what your future if going to pan out like. For a change, I'm sitting in a rocking chair in my brothers room and not in my bed. And, for once, its midday and not midnight. My thoughts aren't going to be as true as they normally are at eleven at night, but I'm sure my mind is going to give it a go anyway.

It's funny. Not humorous in the haha way. But it's funny how your love can switch. I don't know if I'm just fickle minded or crazy or perhaps extremely uncomfortable with staying in love with one person for a long time, but it's funny how your attraction just... changes. I mean, look at him. What's not to love. The blond hair, the blue eyes, the sculpted body and carved jawline with the soft lips. The voice that sounds like silk slipping from your mouth, the hands that hold that Xbox remote so nicely.
What's not to adore?
But I'm weird. What's wrong with me. My love is a wild heart. She is constantly craving more, she's craving adventure. She wants more. Things get boring quickly, people get boring, places get boring. I know that this is going to end in flames, oh how I know it.

You kissed me for the first time today. Your lips nervously against mine, your hands trembling on my neck, your tongue working quick and skittishly. We were in my room, I had just gotten out from the pool, a towel wrapped around my body. You were dressed, because you hated swimming for some reason, you didn't like the feeling of water on skin. Perhaps it's because you were afraid the flaming passion in your heart would be put out by something so cold.

After that kiss I knew I had fallen badly for somebody like you. I wasn't going to be able to climb out without a reason. Please, I beg of you, don't give me that reason. I want to stay in love with you for as long as my lips can murmur your name. After that kiss, you knew you had me. And you knew that every kiss after that was going to just mean more and more.

I mentioned earlier that I get bored easily. Insanity, if you ask me. I get bored of the same old thing, I get bored of routine yet I love it so much. I know, just how I get bored of routine, that I'm going to get bored of being "just friends". I'm going to get sick of lying about our doings, lying about the fire in my stomach, lying about the way I saw you as freaking poetry. I can't help it. I'm a writer. I see most people as chapters, but you- you're a poem. I'm going to get bored of kissing you secretly, sneaking a squeeze of a hand under a blanket during a movie. I'm going to crave change. Ask me. Ask me. Ask me to be yours. I will say yes, you'll have me forever.

But you're not like me. I know it.
But those lips. Those eyes, that laugh, that voice.

I can't leave. Because I hate routine,
But I love it so much.