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.

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