Whenever I write things about you using my poetry or any other forms of literature that I knew, I always wanted you to read each piece. I want you to be the pen on every surface I got my hands into, to write the prettiest words there are or even compose our own words which can equate to being in love. Yes, I may be too much but the thoughts of you keep on colliding inside my head like galactic explosions forming those beautiful stars; carefully placed in the universe, with patterns and messages for the two of us. But I don’t want us to be just a beautiful fiction intricately written so that it would satisfy the reader; like those movie shots in a café in Paris or London or New York. I don’t want us to be a concept; I want us to be real. That my thoughts of you will be a scenery I glance at every morning and my face will be your last picture at night; right before you close your eyes. I want us to be each other’s love story; with all the plot twists, adventure time together, highs and lows like normal people, and a happy ever after. So forgive me, for I know that I am being selfish.