The boy who loves you
is a poet, he
sings songs to the trees
and the birds
and the water;
sings his heart out and
writes you into
someone a lot softer
than you think you are.
It doesn’t matter that he’s
seen you laid bare, he’s
seen all you are and
all you’ve ever been, and still
he chooses to believe
in the person you can
become, and that makes you
weaker than anything
before him.
He’d follow you anywhere,
would follow you into the
jaws of death and
bring you back as if
anything else was unthinkable.
(or so he says)
You hope you’ll never have to
find out if he’s lying or not.
oh eurydice, don’t you know he loves you so | (h.c.r)