2 September 2012
Walking home from you,
In the darkest streets,
I should have my hand in yours,
We should be making a fort of sheets.
But my hand is empty.
The stars spell out your name,
Cupid seemed,
To have perfect aim.
I smile and laugh,
Thinking of something you said.
Even now you give me butterflies.
I lay in bed,
Of course our song comes on.
I picture your silly grin,
Then shut my eyes.
Definitely an epic win.
Opuss № I