Why do I wait to steal a glance, a smile,
Why do I miss you if you’re gone longer than a ‘while’
Why do I look at the phone and know it will ring
Why does its ringtone make my heart dance and sing
Are you the beat in my heart or just a virus in my phone
Are you plain “interesting” or the Tourette syndrome
Are you my magic-maker, or is it slight of hand
Are you the writing in the wall or a castle in the sand
Are you my dream come true or am I better awake
Are you my life’s labyrinth or have I lost my way
Are you my anchor of hope, my pillar of faith
Are you the eccentric or the guy so sensible and sedate
What you are to me can make a tome, very interesting to read
What you are to me is the stuff of dreams
What you are to me anyone can tell, if they just look at me,
What you to me is an open book for you to read
What you are to me may have been restated many a times
What you are is even so, very personal, its mine and only mine
What you are to me, is somewhat a mystery, even still, to me
What you are to me is a more the journey than its aim you see
When I think of my time with you, each time I remember something new,
When I imagine myself, without you, my sweetest memories are but few,
When I imagine this, I am like a morning, without the dew.
When I say all this, I hope I obviate… stating my love for you.
No comments:
Post a Comment