I wish I could fall in love with you or whatever (and I feel bad that you’re taking me out on a date tomorrow night although i forget your name)
I wish I could fall in love with you or whatever.
And we would go get coffee and talk about Sartre. But you would never know what the hell I am talking about so we would talk about television instead.
Then I would be less pretentious and more likable.
The world would love me more, probably.
The birds would sing happier or something.
We could buy a dog and walk it around the park and play frisbee with it.
Buy bottles of wine I know nothing about and eat funny sounding cheeses.
I’ll let you pay for every single date because you said you would.
I’ll cook dinner for you every night.
I’ll wear the apron my grandma made for me that isn’t stained enough to show any use right now and when we wake up the next morning I’ll make you organic chocolate chip pancakes that will blow your mind.
But we couldn’t talk about books.
Mostly because you never read.
Or you say you read, but you just watch the movie then act like you’ve read the book.
The we really couldn’t talk about philosophy or psychology or any of my interests.
We’ll go to a lot of music concerts.
We’ll start a dorky funny kind of ironic band together.
We’ll play a few shows at that bar we like.
And our friends will say they’re great together even though they’ll murmur that I am more attractive.
But I can’t like, fall in love with you. Because it just isn’t right, you know?
