i remember a conversation from when i was younger. i was asked what i looked for in someone. you see, i told them that i look for the qualities of a best friend. now that i look back on that conversation, i wonder why i wanted to fall in love with a best friend. because now that i have, i want it to go away.

they call it FALLING in love for a reason, don’t they?

for me at least, it’s a cruel experience to fall in love with my best friend. i’m sure a lot of people would relate to this since of course i’m not the only person who’s been in this situation. but i wonder.

i love his smile, and his laugh. i love the way his voice gets higher when he’s laughing through his sentence. i love how he constantly says his funny jokes even though it’s not an appropriate time to say them. i love that he’s so passionate about his hobbies. i love that he’s so respectful and kind towards others. i love everything about him. from every flaw that people hate to every single best quality he’s ever had. sure he’s made mistakes, but we all do. i don’t mind if his past is a little marked up, mine is as well. i don’t really care.

he is my best friend. my closest guy friend. he’s seen me at my best but also at my worst. i remember every little detail of his response to my confession. i remember the heartbreak. but i remember the relief i had when he said it wouldn’t mess up our friendship.

it hasn’t messed up our friendship yet, thank god. but it’s messed up me. my mind. my emotions. i love him. im in love with him to the point where i’m drowning in it. i’m drowning in the love that i have for him. and while i wish i could stop, my heart seems to believe that theres still a chance for me here.

it’s not all sunshine and rainbows like it was when we were all but children. it’s dark and mysterious. you hear ominous footsteps in several pitches and consistencies. you never know what’s around that corner or behind that tree. maybe it’s a pitfall? or maybe it’s the portal to a better, much happier place.

we never know what’s lurking in the dark so be careful, and become the bad girl you were raised to be.

bookstores used to be our home

i wish us back to//when we used to//hunt for clothes//at the mall//counting our pennies//down to the cent//guessing on the tax cost//before coming up short//laughing at full pockets//at ragged old jeans//we’d spend hours//in the bookstore//thumbing through//e.e. cummings//and edgar allen poe//like they were//the very oxygen//that was keeping us//alive.