The boy with the mischievous grin
has a gentle heart.
And though his eyes match his dark hair,
they melt when I walk in the room.
His hand reaches for mine in times of joy and despair
because I am his rock, he says.
His affections are tender, and often I feel his warm lips
pressed upon my cheek or nose or eyelid. I smile,
as I should, but my heart does not flutter,
For this new boy, while what I want,
lacks your childish spirit
your freckled cheeks,
your kind eyes.
This boy could be my everything,
but not until he is you.