You Wanna-i Dunno-get Coffee Or Something Sometime?

Underneath All That Denial, You're Someone Who's Deeply, Deeply Nice.

I Hate The Way You Talk To Me, And The Way You Cut Your Hair. I Hate The Way You Drive My Car. I Hate It When You Stare. I Hate Your Big Dumb Combat Boots, And The Way You Read My Mind. I Hate You So Much It Makes Me Sick; It Even Makes Me Rhyme. I Hate It, I Hate The Way You're Always Right. I Hate It When You Lie. I Hate It When You Make Me Laugh, Even Worse When You Make Me Cry. I Hate It When You're Not Around, And The Fact That You Didn't Call. But Mostly I Hate The Way I Don't Hate You. Not Even Close, Not Even A Little Bit, Not Even At All.

That's What The Voices In Your Head Are For, To Get You Through The Silent Parts.

It's As If When You Love Someone, They Become Your Reason. And Maybe I've Gotten It Backward, Maybe It's Just Because I Need A Reason That I Find Myself Falling In Love With Her. But I Don't Think That's It. I Think I Would Have Continued Along, Oblivious, If I Hadn't Happened To Meet Her.

I Have Never Had Anybody Talk To Me Like This. This Is Not A Flirty Sixth-grade Phone Call Or Bantering With Friends Or Words Passed In A Note. I Feel That If My Soul Could Talk It Would Talk Like This.