When I was in eighth grade
I was told to define "love"
I already felt like I've been played
When push came to shove
Played in these stupid mind games

Wondering if he's thinking about me
At the same time I was thinking about an "us"
And what we could be
Would the thought make him grimace?
Or explode with glee?

Why can't he say it?
Why can't i?
I guess neither of us have true grit
I'm just wondering why
Does it make me hypocrite?

No matter the amount of flirting
Neither will admit
My heart's aching
Why can't someone commit?
What are we gaining?

The wondering is endless
Not that I'm helping
For I'm too nervous
That I'll just be babbling
The unknown is monstrous

Emptying my soul
To him would be difficult
Will it fill mmy hearts hole?
Or have unpleasing results?
My emotions are out of control

Reading into everything you do
Hoping for a sign
Or the slightest clue,
That you could be mine
What makes this such taboo?

Come into my hands
like a book.

My hands are strong,
have weathered decades,
will hold you tight.

Let them open you
to the right page,
the center of you.

Let me enter your story
and together we will
search your text
for meanings even
you don't know, yet.

We will write
unimagined chapters.

Cackle at the comedy;
weep at the tragedy.

We will read
each other's pasts,
guess what happens next.

We will find
the perfect passage
and know where
we belong
int the world.

At the tale's ******
we will explode
into a final
exclamation point!

If you only
come into my hands
like a book.