a mere fist bump;
the only contact,
we ever had,
and yet I stared;
glared for hours,
at my trembling hands.
A common route;
from school to home,
an hour in a rusty van;
is all we shared.
yet I sat in front,
to look at you;
from the hazy rear mirror.
the brief time;
a month, two or four,
I am not sure anymore,
that we saw each other,
were special,
everyday a new;
emotion I felt,
a new side of myself;
I realized.
but, was it for you?
I was not sure;
then, nor am I now,
was I desperate in love?
or desperate for love?
questions that I know;
no answer of.