Here lies the words of one who is bound to tradition.
I’m getting used to your eyes
The way they look at me.
I’m already hooked to your smile,
The way it curves slowly for me.
I don’t care if I sound like the next cliché.
I’m getting fond of the way you laugh,
You don’t how it makes me laugh.
To hear you burst out or just a little soft one for my ears only.
I’m getting joined to the things that makes you happy.
I mean I will never love football but I love, I love how it makes you happy.
I’m getting secure in your presence, in a room, in an open air, with other people, as long as you are there.
I must admit I’m shocked at myself, I was supposed to focus on the words that came out of your mouth. . .
It wasn’t supposed to be about you,
It was all about this divine miracle you were supposed to perform.
Now all I can say is that it is you.
I’m getting attached to you,
I’m not sure if you can tell,
But I am a sucker for you.
I’m hoping that by saying this, maybe you will lose your grip on me.
That without any will of mine,