I'm sitting there staring at those little curls on your forehead, and you're telling me about your family... just a bit, just a part of something so deep that i can realize thaat your life must be hard.

and you're staring into my eyes as i help you with your late work. I feel guilty because you keep sharing these little insights into your life and i don't give you any of mine.

So why, boy-face, do i want you now more than ever? why do i care even more while the outside of me is hidding, the inside of me is pouring out to you, just ready for you to tell me the thing that you keep inside of you the thing that will crumble my walls... and let the animals into the garden and the plants into the amimals.

Why do you make me feel this way? or does it matter? Because you do make me feel this way. And maybe...