Randomness and Ranting

FOUR

Four is the number of paragraphs I'd need to describe my love for you. To tell you how much I want you. How much I need you. Knowing you is all I need to say I love you. But there is so much more I can do. I have to.

Four is the number of songs I'd write to tell you how I feel. Then I'd write so many more. Four is the number of poems I've written for you. There are many more to come. Four is the number of year's I'd stand by you. To know you more. To understand each other more. To build up the courage to ask "Will you...?"

Four is the number of times I've lost myself to anger over love. The number of mistakes I've made. The number of timesI've been too stupid to understand. Four is the number oflifetimes it'd take to correct my mistakes. To apologize to myself. Toend my hate filled regret. To say I'm sorry for what I did.

Four is the number of times I'd ask you. To know if you'll even consider me. To recieve any hope of being with you at all. It is the thing I want most.

But eight is the number of years I have searched for an answer. And not one has come before me yet.