Striking The Iron

The only thing it is is hard
When I’m always the one who calls
When waiting for a reply from you
Has me climbing the walls
When a hug is just a hug
And goodbyes aren’t that bad
When me alone with someone else
Doesn’t make you mad
When someone asks you what we are
And all you say is friends
But when I ask about being more
You turn me down again
When a long prepared outfit
Doesn’t turn your head
And all the things to change your mind
Have already been done or said
It hurts to see you so yourself
And so not in need of me
It hurts that you don’t want the chance
To see what we could be
It doesn’t help a whole lot
To know how much you care.
Sure, it’s great to be so close.
We’re almost, but not quite, there.
I’m finding meager solace
In knowing you too are alone
In your genial compliments
And conversations on the phone
In hanging out in parking lots
Or being at ease inside your home.
But none of these things can make up
For what you and I are not.
I strike and strike but the iron’s ice cold.
When will it ever grow hot?