Nothing to distract me from my thoughts.
I've been told, "You think too much."
Listen to the lesson that I got.
"You can look, but just don't touch!"
I contemplate everything she says,
her expressions, and her acts.
Pondering actions and words for days.
Dissecting fiction from fact.
And I think about her all day long
trying to understand her.
Wishing somehow we could sing a song,
while knowing I can't land her.
She's perfectly clear in that respect,
at the same time she's muddled.
She just cannot seem to be direct.
I'm totally befuddled.
I gave her a chance to walk away,
just to be acquaintances.
With fiery eyes she held me at bay,
changed past to future tenses.
Trying to understand her motive
for wanting to be with me,
to receive my substance - not to give.
I give all for I am free.
I don't know, if I'm able to take on
all that's screwed up in her life,
but I'm ready to help all I can
with ev'ry challenge and strife.
She's revealed to me her character,
so much more than I should know.
Then she inserts the stonewall factor,
making me think I should go.
If nothing else in her life mattered,
and she was free as a bird,
I'd hand her my heart on a platter.
She'd only to say the word.
Feelings are strong, we've built a rapport
closeness and similarity.
Like one that happened just once before,
I told her, "I love you", which is true,
but that word doesn't describe
all the emotions my mind runs through,
but they'd cause a diatribe.
They run the gamut from compassion
to sorrow and elation,
and even some twinges of passion,
concern - solace of station.
Why she's compelled to share time with me?
Her motives are none to clear.
I would join her for coffee or tea
and hold those moments so dear.
If I only knew just what she thinks,
just what attracts her to me,
I know they wouldn't be the same things,
regarding her, that I see.
If it's because we're so much akin,
there are others who share more.
It's too much for friendship to begin
to spread the rumors galore.
Responsibility, I refuse,
for all damage done to her
contentment, character, or repute;
but she just doesn't concur.
Just how the hell could I write so much
with so truly deep feeling
about a woman whom I can't touch,
and whose words keep me reeling?
I don't believe she'd ever kill me,
and friendship's not expensive.
Doubting Thomas, I am, I will be
Music is "Dreams" (Cranberries)
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