What is it, if its not Love?

What is it, if it's not love?

Just sitting here
With nothing to do;
Thinking of writing
Thinking of you.
Trying to decided
Just what to say;
I love you sounds right.
Oh what a cliché!

It sounds good the first
Yet reading again;
I love you sounds foolish
Like an old fountain pen.

How could I fathom
What love is about;
For I am no witness
Without a doubt.

Sixteen years
Ive lived on this earth,
And not even once
Have I known its true worth.
A four-letter word
So simple and pure
I cannot use it,
For I am not sure.

I wish I could make
You feel the same
If only words could do that;
Without sounding so lame.
If my words could make us
A little less distant,
Then forever I'd be
So very persistent.

I'd write everyday,
Until my hands turned blue
And even then,
I'd keep writing for you.
I'd write in Latin
And Chinese and Greek.
I'd write in Swahili
And even Band Geek.
My writing would be
New and unique,
Surprising and daring
Cunning and chic.
It wouldn't be the usual
Boring and dry,
It would have a reason
No need for "Why?"

Trying to think
Of how to end;
Lets start at the top,
Now where'd we begin?

Oh now I remember,
No need for review,
I was just sitting here
With nothing to do;
I thought of writing
So I thought of you,
Then came the truth,
With out further ado.

-Jon Wimer