I like you.

What? *I like you?!?
No no no.
You can do way better.
That is too vague.
Put some.... pizzazz into it. Like this:

You are incredible.
I find it impressive that you can keep me talking for hours
And it doesn't bother you that I never seem to run out
Of things to say.
I think your hair is beautiful
And I love that you keep everything so simple.
Your smile shines, and I can't help but grin when I see you happy.
Oh, and you give the best hugs.
In short, I like you.
A lot.

...See? A lot better.

...

...

Why didn't you say that to her?!? Aaaaahhhh, stupid!
I give up! You're hopeless and you're never going to get her!

We are connected
Linked to one another
In more ways than one.
Sometimes it was almost like a trap
And it seemed we were stuck
Blocked by some obstacle
That we never could completely identify.

They say that problems will find a way of solving themselves
Yet there was no solution.
I was on the verge of giving up
But an intangible presence urged me to press on.

Fate had other plans.

Our problems seemed to have solved themselves when we separated.
There was no connection
No bond with which to struggle.
For a time, it felt as though it were complete.
Solved.
But, as time passed, and I looked more closely
It became apparent.

We are meant to be together.

And so I pursued, putting the pieces
Back where they belong.
Easier said than done.
It was almost as if I had to climb over mountains
And trudge through valleys
But I could not give up
Because now I saw the completed puzzle
And it was too beautiful not to include you.

There were many bumps
But in the end, you reconnected.

Many were, and still are perplexed by us.
They don't understand why we didn't give up.
But when we are together, the answer is clear.

And when we are apart,
Rings
Remind of our journey, our promise.
Our love.

As far as my understanding goes,
A poet very rarely knows
The journey he'll take when pen rests upon paper.
Will it be a love story, or some ******-Doo caper?
But I guess I don't know much about poetry,
Because, as others keep telling me,
A poem begins with an inspiration
Spurred on by a healthy dose of devotion.
But I'm rarely inspired, I write
barely, and most of it is trite.
But I take comfort in the fact
That, while my writing is lacking tact
Or symbolism, or inspiration, or even meaning,
At the end of the day, It always leaves me smiling,
And that's all I need.

Let's play pretend.
Let's pretend we don't know each other.
Let's pretend we were never lovers.
Let's start over.
You can teach me how to sing.
I can teach you how to dance.
You can teach me to play piano.
I can teach you how to love.
Let's start over.
Let's drink.
Let's drink to the good times, to the bad.
Let's get ****** up together and not remember how it ends.
Let's be young, wild, and free.
Let's start over.
Now let's remember.
Let's remember the past.
Let's remember how we used to be.
Let's remember all the fun we had when we pretended.