Behind Blue Eyes

I actually really like you.  I like hanging out with you, your taste in music, your sarcasm.  Your eyes, your old shoes, the clothes you wear.  The person you become when your friends are sad, the person you become when you’re in the mood to argue.  The way your hair is always messy. The way I like it better that way.  The fact that you’re one of the few people that I can never tell exactly what they’re thinking. You intrigue me. I want to know more.  I want to hang out with you. Talk to you. It’s all very, very strange and unexpected. But, alas, here we are.  And it would be incredibly wonderful if I had the slightest hint of an idea of whether or not you might ever see me as anything resembling a girl that interests you.