in hopes that my back will stop hurting.
Then I will strap you onto my lips
so my heart might stop too.
This is delicate,
the balance between being your friend
and not shouting that I want to marry you every three seconds.
That's how often I get that urge.
But every fourth second I feel like I need to contain myself.
And every fifth second, the subtle shift from let down hesitation
to feeling like I should bellow again.
'Something about cockroach bits and feet.
Will you marry me?'
A poem by Marina says that.
I think it's about the irrationality of love.
I also have a flower vase that Cecilia gave me once.
On it she wrote in permanent marker:
'Let's forget rationality in love'
I fill it with flowers but they oftentimes die.
If I fill you with kisses, will you die too.
I hope not.
No matter how irrational that hope is.
Because our love isn't supposed to happen like it does for regular people.
Not even like it does in movies.
Our lovestory will be lifted straight out of my poems
and the ones my friends have written.
This is a proposal of sorts:
Will you let me shout "Marry me?" every three seconds?