I love you.

The last time I uttered those words, I was two hours away, in the car with her, and we were both sobbing. At least I was, and I'm sure she would have if she had any emotion. And I never got a response. 

My heart has been in a pile on the basement floor next to the couch, and lucky for me, you like to keep trash, because you've kept my heart for this long. 

How you've managed to piece together my broken heart,

How you've managed to make my crumpled up paper perfect again,

How you've managed to find oxygen in my space,

How you've managed to fly without a plane,

How you've managed to make me happy again, I don't know. 

But last night when I glared into your eyes in the dark of the night, and told you I loved you,

I knew I meant it. 

And I knew you meant it, too. 

And someday, I hope someday will come. 

Someday, I'd like to lie next to you and not worry about a thing. 

Someday I'd like you to love me unconditionally. 

Someday, I'd like you to be my princess. Not your brothers. 

Someday, I'd like to be your repairman, and repair your door for you. 

Someday, I'd like to see. 

Someday, I'll still love you.