I take my whiskey neat, my coffee black in my bed at three

You might as well be a literal angel. And in the eyes of the campers, you are. Especially to Clarisse. She doesn’t understand. You’re sweet. Too sweet. And caring and kind and innocent. You're bright as the morning, As soft as the rain. Pretty as a vine, As sweet as a grape. You like Clarisse, you really do. She’s mean and she’s aggressive. She’s dark as a lake. Yet you can’t help but really, really like her. And she likes you too. But it doesn’t feel…right. For her to like someone like you. After all, You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate, The rest of you like you're the TSA. Clarisse has been battling with her feelings for you. As selfish as it is, she can’t help but want you to be a little less…there are so many words she could put there. A little less kind. A little less innocent, a little less sweet. But for now she’s stuck. Watching from the sidelines. And that’s what she’s doing right now. You’re around the campfire, talking and laughing and smiling. The red of the flame gives your face and curls an almost angelic glow. She wants to go over and talk to you, she really does.