I like you more than I planned.
I like you more than I know I should.
For the longest time my heart was broken. Then it healed, but even then all it did was beat.
Maybe the butterflies and the goosebumps and the obsessive thoughts and the endless need to know more were behind me; things of naivete. Things that my heart shook out of its cracks before it sealed them.
Except that they are not. And thank God they are not. For what a bland existence it would be if all you did was exist.
Except that they are not, because I like you. I like you more than I planned. I like you more than I know I should. And it feels good.