I can’t concentrate on this book or this movie
because the music I always play in the background
and the thoughts of you keep on distracting me.
It’s as if they are banging, knocking on my door,
and I don’t know if you think about me this way,
or if the thought has ever even ran through your mind, that we are maybe, or could maybe have the potential of being, something more than just talkative friends.
And if not, I would honestly be fine with
just sitting next to you on the bus
and never kissing you.
I don’t even know what I want,
I’m just clearing the air.
I turn everything off and think.
Such inconsistencies in love,
flattering devotion, one-sided sexual tension