Amongst the lovers sat on the benches
The holding of hands; the touching of feet
One seldom notices the innocent face
The boy walking alone along the street.
He isn’t lonely; he isn’t sad, but rather hopeful
Wishing he would soon find someone to go to.
He looks away from the couples
For those moments aren’t private, but only theirs nonetheless.
He’s happy to know someone’s loving someone else
And being loved back by the same
He isn’t envious, or maybe just a tad bit.
He hopes the lovers know what they have
For loving is easy, but being loved is a privilege
And being trusted an honor above all else.
He isn’t longing; he isn’t sad but rather patient
Waiting for love that is simple and affection that is pure.