This is for You. (But don't read it.)

This is for the New York socialite I envy and for the alarm clock across the street that we can see from your second story apartment. 

This is for the Mormon boys not on missions and for the boys who love someone else. 

(This is for you because even though I want to want you because you're beautiful, I don't.)

This is for me because I'm an Anxious Mess. 

THIS IS FOR MILES TELLER AND THE POPCORN AND TINA FEYS 'BOSSYPANTS'. 

This is for you: singular. This is for the twenty-sixth of April. This is for you because I'm thinking about you like hands think about holding and prison cells think about holding and moms think about folding and how the folds in my shirt think about the iron and how I don't think about ironing at all. 

This is for you because it was 3:20 am on Provo main and I was listening to The Smiths. This is for you because dying by your side is actually a heavenly way to die. (This is for your right eye. You know why. Also sorry.)

Because it was 3:20 and there was no traffic and I still think despite your flaws I won't ever be enough for you and I'm not even sure we are the same religion and that is important to me. 

This is for you because I was counting the stars like the ways we could be together and I couldn't help but think if those stars could somehow align for us there has to be some way for one of my 95 shades to match any one of yours. 

XXR