I Wouldn't Feel So Lonely

She’s just as attractive as she was when I met her a few years ago.
My heart is still feeling the after effect from the last time she came up to me.
Now I have the privilege of being in her company once again.
The owls are hooting and the crickets are singing a melodious tune.
The bright moonlight exposes the want for love in my eyes.
She’s sitting on a step of stone by the roadway mooching and socializing with friends.
I’m standing right beside her, and she looks at me and tells me hello.
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She doesn’t know that I want her to tell me more than just hello,
But a warm greeting from her may be the closest to her that I’ll get.
What can I do to increase the likelihood of her realising that I love her?
I can’t come out with the words boldly in front of everybody,
And so I’ll just continue to admire her beauty from head to toe.
Her grin, her sound, her body movement, everything she does captures my attention.
Why do the starry night and the enchantment have to end?
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I want to stay out here in the cold air and look at her lustfully all night,
But that’s unrealistic thinking and it’s not likely to happen.
In a few minutes from now she’ll say, “I’m going home, I’ll see you in the morning.”
And then I’ll smile and try to hide the unhappy look on my face.
She was a pretty girl at the age of sixteen, and now she’s a woman.
How could I tell her that I want to marry her when her aunt loves me?
I wish she could see my thoughts before she starts to walk up the steep, stony road.
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I look forward to see her when I visit the mountainous exurb where she lives.
She fascinates me with her loveliness every time I hang out with her,
But my heart gets no gratification when I’m at home and she’s so far away.
If I can’t take her with me to the lights of the city, I’d like to stay here with her.
I hate to leave in less than a week without getting her contact number,
For I know I wouldn’t feel so lonely if I can talk to her on the phone.
Unfortunately she’s ready to go before I build up the courage to ask for her love.

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