I could tell you stories.
A boy for every chapter.
You'd fall in love with every one.
They warmed my heart like laughter.
I can tell you where they are, now.
I've kept up with most of them.
There's one up in Chicago.
I still gets texts from him.
There's one that works at the grocery store.
He never meets my eye.
He acts like I'm invisible.
I wish he'd said goodbye.
Today, I wish I'd never felt
the need for so much kissing.
I'm drawn to those who do not lust.
To them, there's nothing missing.
I'm not independent
even when I have no man.
I swing from crush to crush,
Hoping one of them will land.
I do this to myself.
I make things real before I'm ready.
I'm impatient; I'm impulsive.
My emotions are unsteady.
If love were not a factor
in the future of my life,
I think I could find happiness
and never be a wife.
But there are things I want to do.
There's a life I want to live.
I know I may come on too strong.
That scare you? Please forgive.
It's not that I'll be heartbroken
when I find the one's not you.
It just means I'm stuck waiting, still
Not knowing my "I do."
I'm not expecting perfect;
there are three things on my list.
Love me, like me, get me.
(Or, you know, just get the gist.)
I don't know when I'll find him
and I don't know that I will.
I'm trying to move on from love.
But I'm enamored, still.