There I stood, rambling incoherently into the tin can, you loved it (person)

You. Know. I don't speak a damn bit of Russian. I. Know. You don't speak a damn word of French. I want to get tangled up in words and string. I want to fall down your front step and break every bone in me, down to the fingers and toes. I want to do something so foolish and wicked you’ll be sorry I ever was born. I want to wish I never met you. And you want to kiss me on the forehead and go home early.