Such a foolish thing to gift: a piece of paper, just a messy piece of paper.
I was enamoured by it. I couldn't stop staring at it when you first gave it to me.
It was stupid. It made no sense. It meant nothing but waste.
I still have it somewhere, lost in a box where I keep my treasured belongings.
It's a treasure for me, even after all these years.
A piece of crumpled paper, a treasure.
I smile to myself thinking on how much of an idiot love makes you.
A very big one, really.
I find my lips curl upwards at the silly thought.
I mentally scoff at my stupid smile. Sometimes I can't even stand myself.
I wish I had not this custom, to keep a hold on sweet recollections,
Memories made out of pure inconsistences, shy glances, and brittleness.
You're such a sweetheart; I'm such a meanie.