Quickly America looked back down at his paper, clenching his pen tightly and kicking his feet back and forth under the table in an effort to expend the sudden burst of energy that was making him want to wrap Canada up in a bear hug. Trying to distract himself, he read over what he’d written so far. Then he paused, loosened his grip on the pen, and read it again. And again.
It rhymed. It…rhymed. Like a poem. The more he stared at it, the more it looked like a poem, and now that it was in his head the idea wouldn’t leave him alone. He’d never really been a poetry sort of guy; the last time he’d even tried his hand at it had probably been when Japan had taught him about haikus, and he’d written one about McDonald’s. But poems were romantic, right? They were a good way to express your feelings, right? Especially lovey-dovey feelings. Who cared if the last one he’d written had been praising the glories of fast food? He’d already written like three lines! This was no problem!
And so, with a ridiculous amount of determination, America poised his pen over the next empty line, completely ready to do some poeming. He was going to poem it up. He jotted down the next part before he could change his mind – though this time, pressed much more hesitantly than the heavy scrawl of earlier.
I just love him a lot.
Plus he’s pretty hot.
And he’s…
He trailed off, tapping against the paper partly in thought, partly in nervousness. He snuck another look at Canada but dropped it seconds later, trying to ignore the sudden racing of his heart. Then he began again.
And he’s funny, and quiet, and epic, and smart
He’s awesome at arguing, and he has a huge heart
And I like how he brushes his hair from his face
No matter how many times, it never stays.
And I like how he doesn’t like romantic movies,
Cuz he says that they’re not like real life, and
Crap. What rhymed with movies? Groovies? Was that even a word? …boobies? He tried and failed to cover up a snort of laughter at the thought of Mattie with boobies, but thankfully no one seemed to notice. Either that or they had all gotten very good at ignoring him. No, that was impossible. Appalling, even.
Time to start over.
Your hoodie is red
Your eyes are violet, not blue
I’ll be your hero
And come rescue you!
Ugh. Alfred made a face as he finished, unbelievably thankful that no one else would ever lay eyes on these. Even he couldn't stomach that one. He nearly scratched the whole thing out, but decided to just turn to the next page instead. Maybe he needed a new approach.
Not Quite Robert Frost [2/?]
It rhymed. It…rhymed. Like a poem. The more he stared at it, the more it looked like a poem, and now that it was in his head the idea wouldn’t leave him alone. He’d never really been a poetry sort of guy; the last time he’d even tried his hand at it had probably been when Japan had taught him about haikus, and he’d written one about McDonald’s. But poems were romantic, right? They were a good way to express your feelings, right? Especially lovey-dovey feelings. Who cared if the last one he’d written had been praising the glories of fast food? He’d already written like three lines! This was no problem!
And so, with a ridiculous amount of determination, America poised his pen over the next empty line, completely ready to do some poeming. He was going to poem it up. He jotted down the next part before he could change his mind – though this time, pressed much more hesitantly than the heavy scrawl of earlier.
I just love him a lot.
Plus he’s pretty hot.
And he’s…
He trailed off, tapping against the paper partly in thought, partly in nervousness. He snuck another look at Canada but dropped it seconds later, trying to ignore the sudden racing of his heart. Then he began again.
And he’s funny, and quiet, and epic, and smart
He’s awesome at arguing, and he has a huge heart
And I like how he brushes his hair from his face
No matter how many times, it never stays.
And I like how he doesn’t like romantic movies,
Cuz he says that they’re not like real life, and
Crap. What rhymed with movies? Groovies? Was that even a word? …boobies? He tried and failed to cover up a snort of laughter at the thought of Mattie with boobies, but thankfully no one seemed to notice. Either that or they had all gotten very good at ignoring him. No, that was impossible. Appalling, even.
Time to start over.
Your hoodie is red
Your eyes are violet, not blue
I’ll be your hero
And come rescue you!
Ugh. Alfred made a face as he finished, unbelievably thankful that no one else would ever lay eyes on these. Even he couldn't stomach that one. He nearly scratched the whole thing out, but decided to just turn to the next page instead. Maybe he needed a new approach.