I see you out of the corner of my eye; dare I look?
Oh, no, I dare not.
I think I've used every metaphor in the book to describe you. The words used to flow to the page like love - I didn't have to try at all.
Since those days, I dare not write, either; what would we find, deep in my heart, buried beneath the haunted fact that I, too, am in love with you. And maybe that's too much to say; maybe that's giving myself too much credit. I'm not a logical thinker; I think with my gut, my intuitions. . . my heart. And my heart, solely, speaks of you.
I saw you out of the corner of my eye; dare I look? Oh, no, I dare not.
I think I've sang every love song there is, in hopes you'd be listening. I suppose it's hard to hear with all the protests of other people in your ears (why can't you shut them out, listen to me!); who am I, but one person to make you happy? I'm all you need, and perhaps you know it, but what's your excuse, this time?
Let's, please!, be polite, kids:
I can only speak so many words before I use the entire dictionary - I've attempted to mesh and mingle these words into as many different ways as I could to describe you. And it's sad to say, but our timely technique is no longer a rhythm, but an earthquake; we're no longer flowing together, but shoving against one another, saying only God knows what, praying only god knows what, feeling . . .only what we both know. . .
Could God even love this much, as much as I love you?
It's a thought to consider, and a thought I rarely speak aloud. It's a thought to consider, and a thought that shies away within my heart, where God doesn't bother to go - it's too messy in there, He's said to me. Usually, I'd laugh in agreement. But now. I'm not so sure.
And anyways, who's listening to my thoughts? You, along with the thoughts of yesterday, are as gone as the touch I once felt on my skin. You, as much as the memories of better days, are nothing but a dream now. Perhaps that it is supposed that everyone has something to live for,
perhaps that it is supposed that everyone has a dream;
is it terrifying that my everything is my dream, which is you?
It's is quite the trembling thought; I adore you so much,
that even God doesn't bother trying to stop me.
I've began to document every move you make, out of the corner of my eye. I dare not look, completely. Why should I? I ask myself, often, quite seriously, "And why, oh why, do you dare?" (For my heart knows, I've concealed a look here and there.)
Dare I look? Oh, no, I dare not.
But, do you as people scream in your ears, from every angle,
but the honest question here, tonight, is:
Could God love you,
as much as I love you?