I have died.
But I never woke up in heaven as promised.
I was a good boy. I always ate my green vegetables, I brushed my teeth, I combed my hair, and I never back-talked my mom.
I know this isn't heaven because there is grass everywhere, my room is still cold, and I still can't run very far without losing my breath.
I know I've died because you took my heart out of my chest while it was still beating and these butterflies you gave me won't help pump blood through my circulatory system.
The only time I feel like I'm in heaven is when I'm with you.
I'm sure when you're with me you feel like you're in some twisted heaven where fat kids feed you corny one liners.
I'm sure that you are an angel though.
I dropped that before I even told you that I love you.
But, I have to be honest.
The feathers from your wings are clogging my vacuum, your flying makes my mother uncomfortable, and my family is italian, so don't get upset when you spill food on your white clothes every time you eat dinner with us.
I know I'm not in heaven though.
Because if I was in heaven, you would love me the way that I love you.
If I was in heaven, you would tell me that I've benefited your life other times than just listening to you talk about how your boyfriend doesn't do anything special for you.
If I was in heaven, I wouldn't get an excuse every time I ask you to finish a box of popcorn with me at my place while we watch "Pretty in Pink."
I'm not in heaven. I guess I'm not in hell either. Because no matter what, I still smile when you cross my mind; which is a lot.
I still am on cloud nine when you tell me you care.
I still become bulletproof when you wrap your tiny arms around me.
And I still have hope knowing that you love The Smiths as much as I do.
But I did die.
Because what's a romantic without a heart?
I so easily gave you mine.