You walk into my life like a misplaced semicolon—
unexpected, unnecessary, yet oddly charming.
I, a well-structured paragraph,
suddenly become a sentence that refuses to end.
Run-on. Breathless. Dizzy with bad grammar and worse decisions.
We meet in a coffee shop that smells like disappointment
and overpriced existential crises.
You order tea.
I judge you in silence.
I order black coffee.
You judge me louder.
"Too bitter," you say.
"Too predictable," I reply.
And somehow, that’s foreplay.
---
Three weeks later, you rearrange my furniture.
"This couch has existential dread," you say,
dragging it across the room like a therapist fixing my trauma.
I watch in horror.
In awe.
In reluctant attraction to your chaos.
We exist in a perpetual state of almost.
Almost in love.
Almost breaking up.
Almost setting the kitchen on fire because
who knew that oil and water
had the same relationship dynamics as us?
---
Somewhere between your terrible taste in music
and my refusal to read instructions,
we fall into something resembling love.
Not the slow-burn kind.
Not the fairy-tale kind.
More like the "we-accidentally-bought-a-cat-together" kind.
You name it Hemingway.
I call it a hostage situation.
But love is nothing if not unpredictable.
And I love unpredictability.
And predictably, I love you.
---
Then comes the climax—
The Great Disaster.
The fight about who left the fridge open.
You say me.
I say gravity.
Hemingway picks sides (yours).
We argue like philosophers in a doomed debate.
You storm out.
I stay.
The fridge hums with the sound of impending heartbreak.
---
A week of radio silence.
A century of stubbornness.
Then—your knock at my door,
hesitant, hopeful, wrapped in late-night regret.
I open it, expecting an apology.
Instead, you hold up a carton of milk.
Expiration date: irrelevant.
Symbolism: obvious.
"I figured we should restock what we lost," you say.
And just like that, love wins.
#Poetry #ChaoticLove #RomanticDisaster #WittyRomance #LoveAndLaughter #MetaphoricalMess #UnexpectedlyUs
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