Turning on the lights

I drove past your door.

The lights were on; it made me smile.

I was so happy for such a small thing;

a thing that shouldn’t really matter like it does.

How can I even think to deny the feelings

that you evoke when you are in my mind?

Do you think of me?

Do you know who I am and what I really mean

when I say all of the nervous things I say?

I know who you head home to at night:

a pretty girl who I hope loves you half as much as I do.

Because you deserve all of the things you think you want.

But I wonder if when you touch this beautiful girl,

who encapsulates all the things that I am not,

do you ever, have you ever even once,

when your fingers met her skin,

wondered what it would be like if that were me?

What would it be like to lay

your pretty heart upon your sleeve,

forgetting judgments rendered

by those who don’t know what we might be

and the consequences of actions such as these?

What would it be like to clear the doubt and worry from your mind,

forget the weighty troubles that bind us up

and hold us back,

and to do one thing quite unplanned and act?

To try me out if only for your curiosity’s sake?

In a brief moment of passing joy,

or perhaps foolishness,

we were laughing so hard

and you forgot yourself

and grabbed my arm,

perhaps the way that lovers do.

I think I will spend many long hours caring for you

secretly, but not insincerely,

quietly, but with enough power

to light the whole house

that you call home

bright enough for the whole world to see.

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