These feelings that won't go away.
I wish I could stay.
Wait around forever, until you see.
That you and me,
Well, we are....
NOT meant to be.
It'd be a huge fat fail.
I'd hate you after a week.
Not to mention, you'd probably cheat.
So screw poetry, because these feelings aren't real.
They are all based off your visual appeal.
Let these next few months come and go.
And when June comes, I'll know.
I'll know.
I'm not the next Norther Winslow.
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