I find myself thinking about you,
what you could mean to me,
if you would understand how I interact around my family,
if you would pressure me.
If you could,
someone like me
Worth loving, certainly,
But maybe not by you..
or maybe perfectly by you…
I hate waiting.
Tell me something, though.
Promise me it’s not fabrication,
promise me that you really do make me happy,
that I’m not pushing myself into feeling
you aren’t sheer fiction.