There's a fine line between you and me.
Some days I tiptoe to the edge
And peek over to your side,
And wonder what it would be like to be
Looking at me
From your point of view.

I spend
Thirty percent of the time
Worrying about how silly I look,
Tiptoeing the edge,
Twenty-two percent talking and daydreaming about
What it would be like on the
Other side
With you,
And
Forty-three percent of the time
Convincing myself that
I don't give a crap how
Silly tiptoeing to the edge must look.

The last five percent
I spend thinking about how
The line
Is much thicker than
The dreamer in me
Would like to admit.