Today, I read a poem about a telephone chord whose curls were tightly wound.
And then, I felt like my own chords have been too tightly wound, and rightly so.
They say there's a Taylor Swift song for every emotion.
And though the scholarly side of me, the smart, deeper, more brilliant side, hates itself for doing this,
I'd like to revise such a statement:
There is a Taylor Swift song for every boy I have ever come across.
I have years and years as well as albums and lyrics of evidence based back up.
Today, I branded a boy with a song.
He wears wide-rimmed glasses, owns some of the best plaid shirts I've ever seen, and uses the word ravishing to describe the way I sometimes look.
But he's dimple-challenged, would rather have dogs than babies, and hates sticky jam hands.
So, we needn't say more than, "Next please!"
Am I doing a good job at hiding how sad I am about the whole ordeal?
I was hoping the T-Sweezy dub step would mask it.
You tell me... effective?
The worst part is that I did it to myself. Again.