I am sitting by the phone,
wondering if I should call you,
because the people on TV were falling in love
and all I want is to hear your voice.
It’s been three months
and we can say the words
“I love you”
again, and know
that we are still just friends,
because that is all you wanted to be,
telling me that you weren’t ready
for anything else now.
But still for me there is the eternal wondering,
wondering what might have been
if I’d asked a year ago,
or maybe last week.
Would have been ready then?
You kissed me three months ago,
and that is something I cannot forgive,
for you have left me with the memory
but not the reality,
and it is the reality that I so desperately wanted.
I wanted you.
I still want you.
Because when I say those words,
“I love you,”
I still mean them.
As a friend,
as more than a friend.
As the girl who’s known you
for the past five years
and kissed you that one night,
who was on the other side of the phone
when you were crying.
You held my hand
and told me that you were pretty sure
I knew how you felt,
but I didn’t,
and when I asked,
you said yes.
But then rationality hit,
and you said not now.
You said that I should move on,
not hold on,
but love is not a choice, my dear,
and you are not an addiction I can quit.
I’ve tried falling in love again but, my dear,
my heart is still much too much yours.
I’ve tried to take it back,
tried to give it away,
tried to make it forget,
tried to make it stay
away from those dangerous thoughts of you,
but you are in every corner,
and I cannot get away
or over –
I cannot get over you.