I didn't realize it was sweater weather,
In mid-July, in the center of the summer.
It never did make sense to me;
Why would you put yourself through suffering?
Those long, drapey sleeves that fall past your fingers,
Of those soft, lovely hands that I often try to hold,
But when I do, you pull away like I'm contagious with the flu,
And I feel ashamed.
One day, when it wasn't sweater weather,
I took matters into my own hands.
I bounded over, a devious grin on my face,
And did something I'd soon regret.
I pulled up those sleeves,
Insisted that you'd get far too hot,
And what I found was a secret,
Across your arm, in spots.
You pulled away from me,
Hurt evident in your eyes.
You yelled at me,
But I was still surprised.
You said, "I hate you!"
And then walked away.
That's the last time I saw you,
At least for several days.
When the fall arrived, along with sweater weather,
I gently meandered to your home.
Whether you wanted me there or not,
I wouldn't let you be alone.
Your mother let me in,
Said that you'd never left your room,
So I walked up the stairs,
My heart breaking in two.
I opened the door,
And before you got the chance to do,
What you felt like you deserved to do,
I stopped you.
I held your hands, and you didn't pull away,
I leaned my head against your shoulder.
Tears streamed like a torrent had burst free,
My heart, crushed by a boulder.
I looked into your eyes, as you did mine,
And we talked, really talked, for the first time,
Since I can remember...
I stood outside your window, wearing a sweater,
The one that you got me, that I'll keep forever.
I saw the smile on your face, barely contained.
You came outside and hugged me, so earnestly.
Now that it was sweater weather,
We could weather the storm,
Together...