But it doesn't even make sense, does it?
The way we love without actually loving;
the way we look into each others eyes,
and we both know we see something deeper,
but we aren't allowed to speak.
We don't really talk about it.

You wrap your arm around me and I am paralyzed,
but I like it.
The way you smile, the way you laugh.
I swear, every cliche applies to you.
Perhaps it's wrong, I hope it's right,
and I know you see my feelings
but I don't seem to care anymore.
We don't really talk about it.

I want to kiss your lips.
I want to be able to look you in the eyes for longer
than .2 seconds,
because they are a wondrous sea of curiosity.
I want to be able to call our friendship more than that;
I want to be us.
There's just a small, miniscule problem...
We don't really talk about it.

(d.d.b.)