Everytime you ask me
"How do you feel about me?"
And I don't answer
It's 'cause I am incompetent to
If only I could tell you
You light up the room brighter than the sun
The stars above wish
They were the ones in your eyes
The moon shies away from your beauty
It's unparalleled, unmatched
It's cliche, I know
But that's what you turn me into
A blabbering, stuttering mess,
My brain into mush
Sends my heart into frenzy
It is the way I feel so much about you
But all I say is
I love you
Love, the word
It doesn't even convey half of the feelings
I guess Jane Austen was right when she wrote
"If I loved you less,
I might be able to talk about it more."

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