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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