“I love you.”
No, you don’t.
You wouldn’t think the three words
That bring so many together,
Could push someone away.
I like you, it’s true.
But love?
No, you don’t.
It’s just not plausible.
Do you know what love means?
The burning, the butterflies?
The constant half-smile,
And day-dreamy eyes.
Something you would die for in an instant,
Without regret.
I may be cliché,
But the martyrs of love
Were always my greatest heroes.
Do you compare with Romeo?
Outdo Lancelot with passion?
No, you don’t.
You’re not my Noah Calhoun—
At least, not yet.
We can’t have our own Notebook
Until we’ve at least filled a few pages.
Do you love me?
No, you don’t.
You can’t.
You don’t love me—
At least, not yet.
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