• What is love?
    I know it’s something I don’t want to believe.
    I know it’s not real, now.
    Because you’re a stranger and I’m just your costumer.
    It pains like a thousand daggers to know that I feel this way.
    Not because you have no clue how I feel, but because in your world I don’t even exist.
    What is love?
    All I know is that the bangs that sweep across your head remind me of the fact that you have swept me off my feet.
    And all I know is that each day the thought of you in my mind begins to grow smaller and smaller until you become a spot, a speck, then gone.
    Why do I know?
    Because this thing I call love is just a phase.
    Just. Another. Stupid. Crush.