On exceptionally clear nights, when the soft darkness of the sky outstreches beyond its usual grasp and reaches us, I like to point a finger toward a supposed heaven to count stars with a bright wish in my heart for you to join me. And you were right, I do want to recreate all the fantastical scenes we watch in movies, not because I believe in them, but because I want to live every minute of every day, awake or asleep, in a new world.
 
So I like to dance in my dreams, I like listening to songs with dirty lyrics, and I'd kill to be a little like Lady Gaga or Katy Perry. I like painting things in the colours of the rainbow, I like zoos, I like telling strangers about the intimate details of my life. I take pride in wearing my heart on my sleeve. I like banana flavoured ice cream, and talking about things without stopping, I like jumping from the sofa to the armchair to the footstool to the table and back to the sofa again. I absolutely adore teeny tiny fuzzy-peachy bundles of joy and warmth, and the scent of a certain particularly gorgeous boy.
 
My purpose? To try everything.
 
I might be like everyone else, or unlike anyone else. There's little I understand, but I'm certain a lot needs to be done - priorities to be straightened, growing up and serious thinking to be done. For now, though, I'm lazy and liking it.
 
But what am I, if not experiences? If I can't create every feeling there's ever existed in my head? If I can't fall in love with you over and over and over again every time? If I can't make you happy in ways that lovers before us couldn't even have imagined? Even in their unaware dreams. They couldn't have.
 
You know so well, I'm extraordianrily crazy for you.