Romantical.

I feel like I need to speak.
I hold my throat, but nothing seems to come out like it should. It's loud, and it's vulgar, and unmatched. I try to meet these ends and they never, ever connect.
You don't like what I write.
You don't understand it.
It's okay, because I'm shy to show you anyway.
I can't say this out loud.
I'm falling.
I'm falling.
I'm falling.
And you're not here to catch me.
I'm crying.
I'm crying.
I'm crying.
I'm so crazy; I need to recollect.
But I love you, and I can't say it out loud.
I love you so much, and I can't cry it out.
I can't scream it like I want to. You'll leave me, I know you will. You don't want to set anything in stone, like they all said. I'm not good enough, I know.
I'm not worth a thousand explanations.
Oh well, oh well.
We'll have a good time, then you can forget me. We'll be together for eight days, then we'll part with a hug and a kiss and a nod. You'll never see me again. You won't regret you met me, oh you'll love the story. You'll tell it to everyone you know.
Your lovely American whore.
Your lovely broken-hearted American whore.