It’s the cliché things.

It’s the: you proclaiming my name is your favorite name and my eyes are the rarest and most beautiful type things. It’s the you smiling because you can feel that I’m smiling but we’re both looking at the ground type things. It’s the me feeling like a giddy-young-tongue-tied teen when you ask me a simple question and I can’t seem to answer coherently without a stutter type things.

It’s the cliché things.

It’s the pathetic things.

It’s the: you brightening up my entire day with a few exchanged words and casual conversation type things. It’s the me realizing I can’t quite remember your name for sure but that doesn’t seem to haze my impression of you type things. It’s the you saying one thing that sprints through my cranium all day long wondering what you meant, what it means, whether it means at all type things. It’s the me sitting on that bench the same time, same day, every week wondering if we’ll cross paths again and if we do what do I say/do/wear type things.

Yeah, I guess you could say it’s the pathetic things, too.

But it’s also the hopeful things.

It’s the: us conditioning ourselves from birth to believe every movie, book, and song about true love and the story it has yet to tell for everyone type things. It’s the us sighing over the story of how our grandparents met at the tender age of 17 and “just knew” type things. It’s the us wondering if all this hogwash came from some truth, somewhere, in this god-forsaken teenage wasteland, type things.

The hopeful things.

It’s the you things.
It’s the me things.
But as far as the us things?

I guess I’ll leave that to tear apart at my heartstrings.