I think he loves me

I think... He loves me.

He just doesn't know it yet.

He's scared.

Admittedly I am too.

We sat out back of schools, fields of red and green when I was feeling blue.

My hand on his, he'd squeeze me firm. Tell me things I needed to learn.

How I wasn't so awful. That I was worth the time.

And that my mother's bloody opinion didn't need to be mine.

I needed to know, to know I should love myself too. I just needed someone to do it first, that way I knew-

Knew that I needed no rhyme or reason. I can be the painter of my season. Touches of blue, wild passions of red. And I can temper back his feeling of dread.

For all the reason that he sought. I'm right there, calm and letting thoughts. Thoughts of he, thoughts of me, all churn and crawl about. Uncertainty will go away some night, I have no doubt.

And when his fear makes him say cruel things. I know other days, he won't say the same.

He'll say he loves me.

I'll hurt much less.

He'll kiss me warmly, and steal my breath.

For what are two young scared people supposed to do? But try to learn to grow old together and learn how when our love is new.