To He Who Wastes My Time

This has never happened to me before
I have never been one to fantasize
Even about the one
with whom it would be okay.
It's something specific about your eyes

What is it about this attraction?
It makes me feel faintly sick.
I should absolutely not
think of you this way
but when I see you
I feel a little kick

inside.

These thoughts just serve to waste my time
and make me live a lie.
But when I think about what's real here
I ask myself:
Why?

I've got myself a good one now
I know I'd be insane to lose
But still
the good one drives me insane
But still I keep up the ruse.

I can't count the number of times I've asked
for help with this confusion
Without actually asking for help
to avoid outside intrusion.

Maybe it's the way we laugh together
The perversion we can share.
We both like the woman
who has red hair
You used to play the piano too.

And your eyes. You have pretty blue eyes.
I like your nose. It's not too big.
I like your hair, though it's starting to change.
I would be willing to change for you.

These thoughts just serve to waste my time
and make me live a lie.
But I think of the time
you tried to help
when you saw me start to cry.

My overactive imagination
must have created those looks and glances
I thought I'd see you steal from time to time
Those too-close stances.

I also dream up situations
where we might chance upon each other.
Each more unlikely
than it's predecessor.
I've finally made some realizations:

My fantasies are only that.
These feelings probably don't exist.
Maybe I just want out, or in.
Maybe I really want you as kin,
and I have just made a mistake.

You are a very intriguing man,
and I like you as much
as a little girl can.