Summer time sadness would be summertime madness with you in my arms.
Your hair drips with a fervent glow and mesmerizes my frequency. I am immobilised, stagnant, stunned, and frozen from head to toe by your presence.
I am not the alpha or the omega but rather the beta. I place you on a pedastool. I praise you for everything that it is worth. I splendor in all your magnificence and I obsess over what a moment spent with you would be like. But my appreciation is conveyed wrongly and misinterpreted deeply. You will either choose to ignore me for the entirety of my life or use me until I have nothing left to offer.
But I have wished this upon myself. To give so much and expect a return of equivalent emotion is a fruitless endeavor. To obtain something as precious and perfect as yourself needs to be worked for. It needs to be earned and fought for. I cannot just follow you with praises and plead for your acceptance. I need to play by the laws of our genetic make up; cat and mouse. I need to think ahead of the game, and anticipate your moves rather than think what next to say to impress you. I need to understand why you do the things you do and act on them so you realize that I care. I need to be subversive, subtle, but also direct and confident.
But to muster this up within myself requires practice and careful thought. I can only pray to the gods now, because when I stand face to face, this rationale sweeps from my conscious state and the nervous rattled lesser half becomes the go-to guy.