With the brownest eyes and softest red lips,

Answered with a beating and screaming heart,

I question everyday, “Could I be his?”

Though I force distance, he’s always a part.

His portrait defines perfected beauty,

His touch, his love, I long for, beg and cry,

Saying, “No,” would indeed  be a pity,

Yet my pride, I raise and my words do lie. 

“Does he feel the same?” I often question,

“Do thy eyes look at me the exact way?”

When I’m with him, there’s passion and tension,

And I think about how he makes my days.

Was never someone else, was always him.

It is still him, and will always be him.