The butterflies in my stomach are talented.
They write symphonies between smiles
And subtle serenades behind stares.
They pull the strings of my heart
And tie them around my ankles
To puppet every step I take toward you.
I don’t think I am in control of this,
I am already running miles in my head
Trying to catch up with my racing thoughts of you.
I am stuttering and stammering,
Tripping on my own words,
My tongue is as clumsy as my feet
Because I fell in love
On the first two steps walking toward you.
I have written love stories
That start with hello
And end with I love you,
But I can never remember my lines
Between those points.
I want to call myself a hopeless romantic
But I can’t stutter out the romance
So I guess I’m just hopeless.
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