“In the same way you
lose yourself in a book,
I lost myself in you.
Somewhere between the lines of complexity
and beautifully woven plots,
I found myself staring at you for a second
longer than usual and the thoughts that
flooded my mind were nothing short
of shitty, completely lovesick poetry.
I began to see you in the words
I wrote and my characters began
to take on your role;
every drop of ink that hit the pages
of my notebooks became the blood
that flows through your veins.
You were the idea that came to life,
you were the beauty to the beholder’s eye,
you became the epitome of art and literature–
the perfection we writers seek when
we find ourselves in deep–
and damn, am I in deep.”
Another cloying love poem that I will regret in the morning