This is just another love poem
and this is just another diary page,
and this is just another winter afternoon
when I try
to convince myself
that you are not just another boy.
Oh it sounds so silly
when you put it like that,
because by now all the children
have grown up
and the old ones are still shaking their heads.
And here you and I sit
on the opposite side of reality
trying to make this not just another moment.
You are not just another boy.
But oh, can I say that?
When I look into the puddles
of just another rainy day
and see the stars underneath my feet,
only to find that they are in fact
so far away,
and this life is just another reflection
of the piece I want to play.