I'm sorry, but I'm not ready.
I'm not ready to love you.
To be with you.
To offer more of me
Than a hug or a kiss.
I know it may sound strange, but I'm not ready for the potential, perpetual bliss.
I'm not ready to take your hand, or get out on the floor and groove.
Maybe I will someday,
But until then, whether you stay or go, it's your move.

As we approach the bushes
On the outskirts of the woods,
Birds call to us
Playfully taunting us to join them.

Our fingers reach through branches
Carefully avoiding thorns.
Our eyes search
For the perfect raspberry.

The buzzing of bees
Trying to beat us to the juicy fruit,
Is interrupted by his voice.
His older cousin wisdom:

“The darker the red,
The tastier the berry.”

Red juice stains my fingers
As I bring the fruit to my lips.
Sweetness explodes
Inside my mouth.

I look up at him
And offer up my thanks
In a red-stained smile.

I love you.
There. I said it.

I know, it’s crazy. You think I’m crazy.
But I’m not.
I know how I feel. I have for a long time now.
It’s just that now is the first time I’ve gathered up enough courage to tell you.

And now that I have, I wish I’d have told you every day that I knew it myself.

You made the stars
And
I scattered them in the sky.

You chased after the bus
JUST to see me?

It was good to know,
That you cared.