You can call it one thing.
I'll just call it another.
But your lips, your smile, your essence,
renewed in me that night long forgotten feelings of joy
that for some reason are tied solely to your presence.

Yes, you simply being near causes such subtle fear
that even for myself is hard to express.
But this fear, mixed with your treating me dear
created in me inexplicable hopes for us and nothing less.

And never before that cursed night have we had much touch.
And never more in my life had I desired so much
that involved someone so outside of the realm of what could be true.
But all of that for which I can do nothing
and for all of me that you could be loving
is the reason I'm sitting here writing my heart out for you.

So you will call it one thing.
I must call it another.
But regardless of the games we play,
it's the reason we're apart and not the other.