Sometimes he calls and I stare.

Because the joy one name provokes on a phone screen seems pathetic.

Yo una tipa como soy, dique struck by a phone call.

My mind tells me to ignore, my heart rushing me to press accept.

But that’s the problem accepting or denying my heart is already rushing.

Si le doy accept we’ll speak for hours as if me blocking him yesterday wasn’t on both our minds.

That’s the power of one phone call it can change everything. It always changed us.

Blocking.

Petty. Rude. Disrespectful.

Pero it was the only was to protect my heart.

To block my feelings.

To block our feelings.

Him, the boy.

El tipo I can’t stop mandando mensajes en la noche. El que le digo , I miss you.

Pero en verdad le quiero decir deja de ser tan palomo y quiéreme como tu corazón feels it.

Bésame until our lips are morao.

Me duelen los dedos of typing long texts of cuánto el me killa. Quisiera sólo decirle how much I like him. That boy, el palomo.