I want to be a good person
for you.
I want you to look at me
how I look at you
without feeling the pain.
When we finish a conversation
I want you to smile at me
and say
“We must do this again sometime”
And I want to do it again.
I want to leave and show up again
and hug you every time.
I want to look into your eyes
and not blink.
I think I love you.
True, it is possible you are
like all the rest, and that I will
forget you and move on.
It is possible, that I am just
going through the motion of loving you.
I don’t think so though.
I think you are special.
I think that when you smile,
G-d remembers why He loves the human race.
You are the most beautiful girl
I have ever seen,
You always will be.
If only this love was
without pain.
If only you could stay,
or maybe I could go with you.
I think we would be good together.
I think you make me
truly happy, and that I
can cheer you up too.
I want to spend a day
with you.
And talk.
About anything. Everything.
You are beautiful inside and out.
It kills me when you walk by.
I know you don’t look at me
like that. It’s okay though.
It’s just, well, I think
if you thought about it
you could see us together too.
You inspire me,
but you are unavailable to me,
So that inspiration only goes so far.
And not far enough.
I love you.
It hurts me.
I even met your family
and I think they’re great.
Why are you leaving?
I can’t believe this.
My parents like you too.
I know they would.
How can’t they. You’re perfect.
I’m trying to imagine
meeting someone I’d
be with, but I can’t.
Because of you.
Because of your kindness.
Your long lovely hair.
Your unimaginable smile.
Your wit and mind.
Your laugh and your humor.
It’s all beautiful.
Everything about you makes
me hurt when I don’t
tell you “I love you”.
But I know my place.
And that’s weird.
It’s not the time or place,
or maybe even the person,
but our friendship is good
and I wouldn’t trade it for
the world. Perhaps I
will tell you some day.
Perhaps.
You are so wondrous.
I apologize that my vocabulary
is small, and I can not
do justice to you.
Perhaps I will write a song,
maybe I can tell you like that.
But words come too fast
and have too much possibility
for miscommunication and error.
I love you.
So much.
I’m out of place.
That’s why I won’t say it.
So I’ll keep it on this paper.
If only things were different.
I swear it bugs the hell out of me
that things can’t be different.