If he loved me, he would put pen to paper for me.
If he loved me, he would read and dissect every piece of myself I have ever put on paper.
If he loved me, he would take the clothes off my back and endure the foreclosures of my persona.
I don’t want love like it’s depicted in the movies, or how it’s so easily obtained in the streets.
I want my presence to be an ongoing request.
I want to be in a way to be a turn on just because, or have my leg underneath yours and you not pull away.
I want the late evenings to be sentimental, something exclusive to only you and me.
I want the small things people say not to worry about to mean something between us.
I want the jokes shared between us to resonate within ourselves, causing us to think after every encounter.
I want the love of a million in one to prove that if he loved me, the yearning for more would be near to unimaginable.
If he loved me, he would read and dissect every piece of myself I have ever put on paper.
If he loved me, he would take the clothes off my back and endure the foreclosures of my persona.
I don’t want love like it’s depicted in the movies, or how it’s so easily obtained in the streets.
I want my presence to be an ongoing request.
I want to be in a way to be a turn on just because, or have my leg underneath yours and you not pull away.
I want the late evenings to be sentimental, something exclusive to only you and me.
I want the small things people say not to worry about to mean something between us.
I want the jokes shared between us to resonate within ourselves, causing us to think after every encounter.
I want the love of a million in one to prove that if he loved me, the yearning for more would be near to unimaginable.
