You used to make me write hearts in every page of my notebook

Now you make me write poems in every page that I get

I may write a bunch of goofy, girly, stupid love stuff

I just can't mean what is in it.

Those poems to me are just papers

With tons of bull written in them

You may look at them as the proof that I love you

But at the end you shouldn't pay attention to them.

I show them; the only thing you say is "You're talented."

It's not like I'm expecting for more

Little boy, it's not that I don't love you

It's just that the fun is dying off.

I used to get excited when I talked to you

Even jump when you got on

I used to have long-paged conversations with you

Now a paragraph is what I got.

It's not like I feel it's totally over

I just feel I can touch the end

But inside, deep, it's all a trap

That right now I'm trying to state.

I just need an honest 'I love you'

I don't think I can answer the same

You used to make me write hearts in my notebook

But I think this is the last page.