You once told me you judged songs based on whether they’d be nice to die to or not. You smiled after you told me that, and I thought about how you were like magnolias—dangerous but irresistible.
Mozart’s Lacrimosa tops my list.
I love it when you wear your gray cardigan/blazer hybrid thingy.
I want you to hold me. To whisper artsy musings into my ear at night, and to fingerpaint the night sky across my eyelids. I want you to show me parallel perspectives, and describe to me all the cubist sides of myself I’ve never known.
I just want to sing “Baby, it’s cold outside” with you over and over.
I don’t want you to unravel me. I want you to revel in my knots and stop trying to untangle me.
Sometimes I wonder if you’ll see beyond the bright, and embrace the shadows too—cause that’s what makes an object 3D.
Please wear more turtlenecks.