I've made a point of making the difference
between being in love with someone
and loving them.
Being in love is eating strawberry ice-cream
or holding hands on a walk in the park.
It is the smell of summer,
it is the touch of the sea breeze,
it is waking up from a sweet dream.
But loving,
loving is rainy days spent in between bed sheets,
is it the immaculate silence
you can only share with a heart that beats to the same rhythm as yours,
it is the sound of thunder.
So when you tell me you love me,
I almost want to believe it,
but I look into your eyes and understand
you have no idea what you're talking about.
You're confusing it with fascination, darling,
you're confusing it with curiosity.
You're taking the street lights for stars.
You're taking the depth of the ocean
for familiar territory.
Your desire to figure me out,
to put me together like a puzzle
and the moonlight we shared
had nothing to do with love.