Darling,
I am not in love with you.
I know it now.
I may have lingered my fingers on yours.
I may have connected your moles
like constellations.
It may had felt warm
my head on your chest.
But, that's not all out of romance.
You may tell me you love me,
by the voice of nothing more than rapport.
You may hand me flowers
for they might speak the words
you haven't learned to speak yet,
or you might not even learn to speak at all.
You couldn't care less about what I ate last supper,
and it's okay.
For if this is love,
why then do I trace your skin
all afternoon and still couldn't find any answers?
Why then
does it taste strange on my tongue
when I tell you I am yours?
The flowers you gave me
are all dried out now,
and alas, I let you go.
I apologize for the delay.
I apologize for it's just now
that I have figured it all out.
And to tell you how I truly feel,
I apologize,
but you will have to wait a while.