I Can't Do It

I can’t do it

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t

Why? I don’t know…cold feet may be

But I can’t do it.

Maybe I’ll be able to do it,

When pigs fly and the sun turns purple,

But right now, I can’t do it.

I can’t do it because I dread the moment when I tell you and you will know,

That the first time I saw you,

you made me feel like a warm snug blanket on a cold winter night, that’s nauseating,

But that’s how I felt,

As butterflies churned my stomach up and down,

as you..passed me by.

I couldn’t relate to what was happening to me,

because the chocolate milk that I was having tasted weird

and the cheese and ham tasted like fish and pickle, Yuck!

But on that day I promised myself,

that one day I am gonna ask you one simple question,

“Hey, do you think pigs can fly?”

Yes! it’s a stupid question,

but stupid as it may sound it would be my first meagre attempt to establish contact with you,

Because underneath that question there were layers of thoughts and statements that I told you countless times in the conversations we have in my head.

There, you always smile, a gentle warm thing, the stuff dreams are made of.

But in reality, I may never know,

Cause I can’t do it.

In my mind, we always hold hands,

as we stroll across a playground filled with kids and I tell you,

“You will see, ours will be more

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beautiful.”

I tell you of the times when I used to see you from the corner of my eye,

hoping you won’t see me.

I was so bad at it that you saw me every time and thinking what to do I just had a dumb grin on my face, that’s how I felt,

Dumb.

I tell you about your cooking, good or bad it was mine,

Principle: I shall not share,

To anybody who wants some, Shoo, go away, scram, amscray.

I talk to you about our grandkids,

when I tell them how I proposed to you,

and you turn red and slap me on the back of my head.

As we grow old together, I hope you still ruffle my hair,

hair or no hair.

These are the things I tell you in my head,

never knowing if I could tell you upfront

That in time I want to tell you,

that you can be the start of something so beautiful that I am afraid that if I touch it,

I’ll ruin it.

That my life goes around the words ‘damaged’ and ‘baggage’

so much that the dictionary might change the meaning of those words with my name.

But I can’t do it.

So I write,

thinking of the times that I could’ve told you that I want to be with you.

That you and I, need to be together,

so we can see small piglets with tiny wings take flight,

Like the night sky light up with fireworks in the blue,

Thinking of the times that I should’ve told,

“You know, I always had a thing for you.”