I confess that I am worried
I confess that I am scared
I confess that I've been staring for too long at your empty chair
I confess that I am fickle
I confess that I am scarred
I confess that I too often see your face among the stars
I confess that I am tired
I confess that I am stressed
I confess that I still long to lay my head upon your chest
I confess that I am hopeful
I confess that I am strong
I confess that I know someday you'll be back where you belong
I confess that I still love you
I confess that I still care
I confess that I've felt space beside me
Wishing for you there

We spend our lives waiting
Waiting for something better
When in fact, the best we will ever have
Is quite possibly right in front of us
Inches from our faces
And we'd never notice

We lay, face to face
With only our soft whispers
To fill the small space between us
With only our minds and bodies
To satisfy the desires of the other

We do not have much
Not much besides love
But as I gently traced the outline of your lips
And you stared into my eyes
As if they were gates to the most magnificent soul you had ever seen
We were happy

And yet
To this day
We each find ourselves hoping
For something better

One might be quick to peg me as a heedless, young lover
Which perhaps I am
In the sense that
Nothing else in the world would matter to me
In the arms of the one who was my world

Yet, they tell us to slow down
Most will not allow themselves to believe
That two souls as young as we
As lost and broken as we
Could discover the true meaning of this mysterious thing called "love"

It seems quite silly
Almost senseless
That they would deny the younger generation of this feeling
This overwhelming, unavoidable attraction

Because how can you expect to love when you become old and wise
If in your days of youth
You have not practiced?