I wanted to write poetry about you so bad, you’re the one who’d deserve my words the most. Words, that’ll make people sound like sunsets and streetlights and freshly fallen snow. Oh hell, I’ve only ever written about things that make me sad. I can’t find the words that’ll make you sound like that one night where you were roasting marshmallows over a fire and you felt invincible. I can’t. You already are.