This is ridiculous.
I keep dreaming about you.
And all day I keep thinking of you.
Why am I plagued by these thoughts when I know you haven't thought of me in a long time?
That thing on Instagram was a fluke. It had to be. You never use Instagram and besides, even if you did, you're you.
You're handsome and intelligent and wild and courageous and generous and gentle and passionate.
If a girl hasn't nabbed you by now, they're crazy.
It was a fluke. I need to accept this and try to drown out these thoughts with a million other thoughts. Of... I don't know, foxes?