I’m not quite sure how I got here,
Or why your stare makes fear feel safe.
It's like you can read the aura of me,
Though, maybe you just read my face.
I'm not quite sure I deserve this;
To have butterflies shatter my pride,
And you perfectly see the broken parts
That for so long I've had to hide.
Yet, It’s not in this moment
I know that I’ve fallen,
It’s the one-hundred in-between.
All the times I’ve played
"connect-the-dots
'
With freckles upon your cheek.
All the times I’ve stared in the mirror,
And I’ve cursed at my reflection.
For the face I see
Doesn’t seem like me;
Just a trick, or some deception.
And then all the times I pause
.
And all the times that I think
That the view I see I’d love with glee,
If you were stood there next to me.
I'm not quite sure I'm courageous,
As when our fingers intertwine,
You unveil the curtain of boldness
I so often cower behind.
Still, you cling on tight to that hand;
Search for secrets in it's embrace.
But, you'll find no truth in reading my palm;
It's all written upon my face.
Sureness is a fickle thing,
love is constant and still.
And right now I'm sure I love you,
And I hope I always will.
And if I'm not courageous, or if I can't be bold.
Well then at least I know I'll always have your hand to hold.