At times he cries himself to sleep at night,

as his head and heart feel weak, he tries,

to hold on sometimes, it might get better,

maybe it’s a fluke or it’s just the weather.

Never did he plan to become this kind of man,

a hopeless romantic who cannot even stand,

in front of a girl and confess his attraction,

of course he’s too afraid to hear her reaction.

That’s when he becomes quiet, still and frozen.

Hoping, effortlessly, they’ll kiss before the night’s over.

They meet again the very next day, conscious of his still constantly grey.

His desire is pure as they become alone at one very moment.

He tries to move in, but he fucks up instead.

“I’m sorry,  I’m trying.”, again and again.