You come into my life like a tidal wave, knocking me head over heels, and now I'm all a mess.
I can't say I'm surprised, because isn't that exactly what I did to you?
You turned my heart to butterflies, which are now rampant in my stomach.
One time, while walking home, a tiny orange butterfly rested in the palm of my hand. It stayed there the entire way, and it wasn't until I was at my front door did it fly away.
My hands are full of water. I keep drinking, but they're never empty.
So, as much as I like butterflies, I will die without water.
No longer is it a waiting game, but a drinking game. And I will drink till I'm far too drunk to recognize you, and the butterflies will be flying around my intoxicated head, and I will drunkenly run to the source of this drink, and I will not look back at the winding road, or the many, many signs that read,
Patience says, avert you.