It's Monday and I'm watching you from across the room. You're talking and I'm watching your lips. They shape more than just words; pure and sweet notes pour out of your mouth, and I'll never get over it. Your eyes catch mine, steady and grey, the quiet before the storm. I will wait to be blown away, if only to finally feel frenzied winds tear me away from reality.

Beca, I promise, giving into you is all I dream about. (Even if dreams are for the sleeping.)

When the afternoon light pours in through the curtains, warm and gentle, I imagine your eyelashes fluttering as I trail careful kisses down the column of your neck. If I close my eyes I can almost hear your breathy sighs, exhales like the agony of wanting.

And this is the closest to God a non-believer like me will ever get.

It's Tuesday and you're thinking of him. His name spills out of your mouth, red and bleeding, and you pause, like you've realized a mistake in this well-rehearsed script. We all know where this goes. You might hate the easy, predictable endings, but who really goes for the hard-fought, well-earned ones? You'll reserve battles for hate and truces for love.

I don't blame you, but I wish I could.

When you change the subject, you're fooling no one. I want to tell you that I could be your first choice, your one and only. I could be good enough for you. My fingers could leave butterfly touches that burn your skin, igniting and blazing through all reason.

But what could I ever really be? Third in line? Fourth? But it's long live the King.

It's Wednesday and I'm sorry. I've loved before and I'll love again. I would never hold you captive just to release me from my own heartache. But your smile makes my insides twist and my blood boil at the thought that it's for anyone but me. What I'm trying to say is, I'll move on if I must.

(Please, don't make me.)

When you focus on the screen of your laptop, hard and intent, I see infinity and eternity reflected in your eyes, ungraspable concepts made understandable to a mere mortal. It's a sight I can never forget, but I'd bury it if I could.

I'm sorry. I never learned to want in halves.

It's Thursday and you're beautiful. It's not just the dark look, not just the way your messy hair falls in your face, not just the way you bite your lip softly. It's the sum of your parts, the bigger picture. You're a masterpiece, a work of art; you're broad strokes and surprisingly meticulous details; you're vibrant color masked by dusk. You're breath-taking.

Darling, I lied. If I fall in love again, it will only be with you, once more.

When you turn to me, your lips are so close to mine that I could kiss you if I leaned just a little bit further- and I think, "So this is what craving is." The world has ended and I am fine with it.

And this is the closest I've ever felt to dying. (Honestly, I don't mind.)

It's Friday and I'm crazy with how much I think about you. I'm sick in love and I need to purge you from my system. Instead, I want you to feel the same clawing desperation, I want you to understand the anguish, the absolute misery and bliss you bring to me. More than that, I want to know your thoughts, the things you no longer admit to and lie about and why it's easier to say than the truth.

My desires don't coincide with yours. (And yours will always come before mine, I promise.)

When you sing the lyrics to your mash-up, I know this is hopeless. It's crushing and humiliating and bruising, but somehow I still think: maybe. This optimism is a lone flower caught in a rainstorm, still hoping to bloom again.

And even the brightest people have dark edges.

It's Saturday and I'm done pining. I can drive myself insane thinking about how you'd feel or I can ask you for the first touch. He has put himself forward as an option and I can match that. I don't deserve you unless I try.

So I'll wait for you to decide – kiss me or kill me.

If you choose me I'll sweep you into my arms and tell you every single irrational and frantic thought I've ever had. If you choose me I'll run my hands along your body until I have every dip and contour ingrained in my head; even if I forget my name I will remember that. If you choose me.

And if you don't… I would understand. I'm not an easy choice.

It's Sunday.

I'm the one harmonizing with you, but he's the one you've dedicated your melody to.

You run into the audience and kiss him. I can't breathe. I can feel every piece of my heart as it breaks, shards of ice inside my chest. There's nothing more to be said.

We won the championships, but I don't feel like the victor.

I smile for you anyway.

And this is what desperation feels like.

A/N: Thanks for reading, I really do appreciate it. Leave a review if it so suits you.

Hope you have a wonderful Valentine's Day tomorrow, and if not, just remember that chocolate is the cure to all troubles.