but you’re so much more interesting than any book. i’ve wanted to read and dissect everything about you.. to wish that i could put all of it on paper so then i could read them forever and ever. i’m afraid of chronicling you in a sense that you are undefinable. i don’t want to attach words that most likely will never fit you. i don’t want to undermine you with adjectives that don’t come close to describing you. nouns could never define if you’re a person, a place, or a thing. a proper noun isn’t proper because your name slips off my tongue. you’ve become a clause, a phrase, a sort of syntax in my head. everything could be linked to you; every single sentence that leaves my brain and out of my mouth is somehow in connection with the thought of you.
i’m truly and utterly enraptured in the semantics of you. i want to wander your punctuations. your commas and your colons. i want to intertwine myself within your vague semicolons. your quotation marks. you're chock full of intense, wonderfully, enticing questions and ellipses.
i want you to label me with apostrophes. with exclamations.