A brushing of hands.. A passing glance.
To steal one's thoughts as if by chance.
I oft wonder, is such the case,
Or should I truly desire to be in your embrace.
I know of affection, friendship, and care.
Yet love is something of which I'm not aware.
I thought I'd known, time and again.
Yet this game of love is one I'll never win.
I toss my hat out of the ring,
For my heart is quite a fickle thing.
I desire not to hurt you, nor myself.
So I willingly place my heart up on a shelf.
Dust may gather, and its beat may grow faint.
Yet for true love, I know my heart will wait.