I think about you day after day,

sometimes I even plan out what I will say.

You have no idea; you have no clue,

just how much I think of you.

I remember the time, I remember the day,

I had no idea what I was going to say.

I remember getting lost while staring into your eyes;

I must have made about a million sighs.

I'll tell you here,

cause you and I are probably both thinking if this was real.

I really like you; don't know why I'm confessing,

take this and toss it away; I really don't care though

even if it adds regret to feelings I've been suppressing.

Thinking of why I like you makes me weak,

as in "Why me?"

since people think of me as a freak.

I feel like an idiot for making it so long,

because after this—I'll be long gone.