just what I am thinking all this time.



He looks at me like I’m his universe, like I’m all he needs to survive. He talks to me like its my voice he wants to hear, like it’s me he wants to talk to.
He smiles at me as if I’m his personal fantasy, his own pandemonium. He treats me like a queen, like a part of his dreams.
And this is all a girl could ask for, but there’s only one problem. He’s not you.

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