You got brown eyes,
freckles,
thin thighs,
but I wouldn't change you for the world.

You're a lost girl.
Say you're finding yourself girl,
but we all know the more you search,
the more you come back to me.

In our little town they all know,
who will stay and who will go.
You will always come home to me.

I'd marry you tomorrow.
I'm not even kidding.
Like if you said,
"Let's go. Let's do this,"
I would be 100% down.

We haven't known each other
very long, six months-ish.

We haven't explored each other
like a ship sailing every
nook and cranny
of every ocean and sea,
but I've seen enough.

You are the best thing that isn't even mine.
And in time, I hope to make that statement a lie.

I want you to be the best thing that is mine.
And I, want to be the best thing that is yours.
I think we're on our way, even without
a perfect, smooth sailing.

So, you could say I'm shipping us,
a one-true-pair.
We'd go up the ark together,
and I think Noah would agree,
two-by-two, you and I would be
the two that he'd expect to see
pairing up.

I'd marry you tomorrow.
I'm not even kidding.
Like if you said,
"Let's go. Let's do this,"
I would be 100% down.

I wonder how it feels
to know every letter,
word, sentence, and
thought is about you.

That somebody
felt so compelled
to write something
about you,
to know that you touched
them in some way
to express it in words,
and more importantly,
to the world.

Maybe you weren't theirs
or their world. Maybe they were
yours. Maybe you weren't either
of each others or both.

I know your reading this.
I know you know who
you are.
I know you know this is about you.

Please, before you make
your assumptions and comments,
please tell me how it feels
to know I wrote, write
about you.