What is love?
Everytime it slips from my mouth,
the word sounds goofy.
I suppose we attribute meanings
to things,
by the way we
have experienced them.
Love.
What is love?
I don’t know how to love.
I’ve never loved anyone with my whole being.
I’ve never hold love’s hand,
never went out for dinner with her,
never took her to breakfast in the morning.
Whenever me and love happen
to go out for a walk,
I always find myself two steps behind.
That’s why I’ve never seen her face,
never touched it,
never caressed it.
My hands are made for break things,
instead of holding them.
I’m not good with people,
probably because of my social anxiety.
That makes me bad at love.
Or, better yet, at everything I do.
I got a tender heart.
I swear.
But I guess it doesn’t work anymore.
I’m scared.
Will I ever be able to catch up
with love in this endless walk?
Will I ever see her face
and tell her I love her,
that I know who she is?
Or maybe I don’t have
to run to find out.
Maybe I have to get out of bed and
look
in
the
mirror.