you like telling me,
"you're jealous,"
of that boy's girlfriend
(as if i give a **** and a half about him anymore)
and how can i say it?
that i'm not, that i don't,
because of you?
i guess i could
(it would be easier than i think)
and i guess i should
(we're not going to live forever)
and i guess i will.
but for now i'm in agony over the fact that
the price of being my best friend for so long
is that you don't think i can love you.
the way i look at you should be enough
(but it isn't)
the way i hook my finger through yours should be enough
(but it isn't)
the way you make me feel should be enough
(if only you could see it on my face).

what will be enough
is the words
and what i don't have enough of
is the courage.





(the point is
that i'll do it anyway
for you.)

and if i stop, i'll miss the little things:
shaving my legs when i know you're coming over and
not drinking coffee because you don't like the taste of it on my tongue.

i'll miss
running out to your car with my shoes in my hand,
the very last goodnight kiss that's always sweetest.

i'll miss lying to my parents about traffic
and weather
when we were right around the curve of the road,
stealing kisses.

i'll miss
when you don't shave because you know i like your scruffy boy-stubble
when you touch my face without speaking
when your actions
are louder
than words.

i'll miss
your sweetness
i'll miss
your puckish sincerity
i'll miss
you.

i'll miss your hands
your tongue
and your lips on my cheek.

i'll miss you kissing each one of my fingers.

i'll miss our secret handshakes,
our inside jokes,
our petty fights.

i'll miss our song.
i'll miss our arguments about the beatles' breakup,
our railings against religious institutions
our speaking of souls.

and so what i'm proposing,
from me to you,
girl to boy and
heart to heart,
is that you don't stop loving me,
and i
won't stop loving
you.