Don’t fall in love with her, though.
You will anyway. She’ll draw you in crescent moon glow gold.
Yeah, she’ll grab you alive because you know and she knows she’ll see you like no one else.
No one else is going to look at the way you tie your shoelaces and think about the first time you learned to do that and notice how your fingers bend.
No one out there is going to look quite the same at the place where your chest meets your throat and think that a choir should sing about that.
But she does that, because she’s been painting her heart with thoughts of you for so long. Like that lonely oak tree reaches toward a leafless, gloomy sky, for so long she has stretched you across her fingers and her toes. So when she finds you, it’s not your fault she feels like something’s missing, even though she draws a canvas with the way your arms were strong around her waist and the space between your left front teeth when you smiled.
When you did, you were falling in love with her even though you shouldn’t. With the way another girl wouldn’t write you into her yesterdays and her tomorrows.
The way another girl wouldn’t look at other girls looking at you and think, you don’t know him like I do. How his eyes get full of stories that he just wants to tell to make other people happy.
Don’t fall in love with her. Her head has been in the clouds for too long for her to be on the ground. Too many people have noticed, and told her, you’re wild and free, and it made her feel chained. So she broke. She didn’t break free. She broke into tears. She broke at the thought of you loving someone else because she set you free to melt into new horizons and new heartbeat smiles. She thought she was wild and free and only halfway in love, until it was too late.
But she’ll still echo grandly in your mind when you’re holding someone else. That girl who will write you into stitches across the quilt on her arms. Please, don’t fall in love with her. She’s tired of breaking and sewing herself back together with sideways glances at the boy across the bar, long nights sleepwalking through dreams, and etching you into pages that no one will ever read. Always searching for the right thread but the color comes out all wrong and everyone pretends they can’t see that she’s mended.
Don’t fall in love with her because she’ll be the daydream in your head. No other girl will cry in the sunlight and laugh at the rain then go home to tell you about it in letters and a hot cup of tea. But you will. You’ll do it anyway. Because that’s how she works, that’s how this works, like roses growing with thorns. You’ll get caught up in perfume petals and never me able to let her go.