I have never even seen the color of his eyes,
Or heard him say my name.
I did not even know what he likes to do.
When the sky is full of rain.
I hope that he likes to dance,
As praise to the water falling from above,
But even if that was true,
I would not yet call this love.
So what makes him different?
I guess it is my own curiosity.
I want to know more about him,
His eyes are the color of endless possibilities.
All I know about him,
Is that he wears a sweater every day.
While the other boys wear tshirts.
Also his forearm creases, in a perfect way.
He runs on my school's track team,
I know because I do as well,
And now I run even harder.
Because if I could catch up to him, that would be swell.
Because then, there is a chance that we would chat,
And he would ask my name,
When I tell him he would smile, and laugh
My world would never be the same.
Then big little moments, like a date at a cafe,
Or laying on the grass and staring at the stars.
A first kiss, and the promise of more
A world that would all be ours.
Then one day we would stand together,
Him in a suit, me in a gown of pure white.
He would take my hand in his,
And everything would feel all right.
Or maybe I will work so hard,
Only to find he hates to dance,
Or that he is dull and dumb,
Love should not be left up to chance.
Worst of all, what if he finds me odd?
My laugh too loud, or my face too round?
Or I show him this poem I wrote about him,
And he makes an awful disgusted sound?
So I am better off looking from afar,
Watching the boy four seats away,
Wondering if I could love the boy,
Who wears sweaters every day.
In my mind, he is sweet and kind,
He is everything I ever wanted him to be,
And our words will complement each other.
Oh, the magic and the uncertainty of possibilities.