I always seem to have a comfortable disposition when it's only us, my friend.

i've been asked questions
regarding feelings
(for her).
those of which i express vocally
and
physically
(and of course, through writing).
you call it young love.
all i can say (or write)
is,
in response to your
rolling eyes
and
presumptuous sighs
when i tell you
my
heart
stops at the
sight of her,
my
breath
hastens, and my
world mirrors perfect reality
pure bliss
with every single thing just feeling a slight amount better
(the sun's glow warming your skin,
the sky's deep blue pool greeting your smile
and bringing it to new lengths,
the little pink lilies methodically waving to you,
with help from the wind, their close, breezy friend,
and all your worries seem to be tiny matters,
now vanishing into the depths of the pool
like the floating clouds, dissipating
into this simple,
beautiful
summer
day),
that
you simply must be
jealous or
clearly oblivious
to how love changes
every
single
day.

How Love Changes Every Single Day by Calvin