Excuse me, but I think I want to know you.
I think your iPod is full of songs that I might like to listen to if you put it on shuffle; I think you love the kind of music that I can fall asleep to, I think you listen to the kind of music that I can cook to, I think you like the kind of music that I can come home to.
Excuse me, I don’t mean to stare, but
I think your smile is the exact kind of contagious that I have been striving to avoid since I caught the flu in tenth grade after kissing a boy for the first time. On you, contagious doesn’t look so menacing, although I still think it’s deadly. Your smile is the kind of contagious I want to catch, your smile is one that I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of.
Excuse me, I know we don’t know each other past first names but
I’m infatuated with the way your eyes light up when I’ve said something funny, there’s something inside me that wants to make sure your eyes never dim again. I don’t need a last name to know that.
Excuse me, but I think there’s something about you that I can’t quite shake
We were dancing within the first week of meeting and I’m not sure I ever want this slow song to stop. I’ve never felt at home like I do with your fingers interlocked at the small of my back, you told me you wouldn’t let me get away easily, and I’m begging you, please don’t.
I want to know you.
And I’m obsessed with the notion that maybe, you want to know me too.