Not Allowed
By Simply Shelby

There are things I want to do; things I want to say. I watch and I wait for the day I can do what I want to do and say what I want to say. But, right now, I'm not allowed.

I want to hold your hand. Warm, soft, and assuring me of fears that I don't say aloud. We held hands one time. You walked me home in the dark. A clear night where everything we had to say was understood. We murmured a quiet conversation—meaningless and undefined. My door arrived too soon; large and overbearing. I withdrew my hand from yours. Guilty.

I want to lean in when you put your arms around me. Almost drizzling, the sky was lit up by the lights illuminating a green grass playing field. Cheering fans and typical songs played by the band filled my ears. I'd caught a cold and I was crazy to come outside in the rain. You asked me if I wanted you to take me home. I shook my head. Despite the cold, I was enjoying being with you. A blanket around my shoulders, followed by your arms. I tilted to lean into you. I froze and pulled back. Guilty.

I want to call you my boyfriend. People comment. People ask questions. I hold my tongue from screaming, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" I smile sheepishly and demure that we are only old friends. There's nothing quite there between us. I am miserable for the rest of the day. The crease on my forehead doesn't leave my face. We will probably go from friends to marriage with nothing in between. I want to say, "Yes, we're dating." Guilty.

I want you to kiss me. You set a chai latte and a blueberry muffin on my desk. I glanced up and shot you a grateful smile. Your eyes catch mine and my pencil stops. You lean down and I tilt my head back. Common sense catches up and your kiss brushes my forehead, tenderly. You tell me to have a good day at school and leave. I finish my homework. Nothing is said about the almost kiss. Guilty.

I want to say I love you. I want to whisper it in your ear before we go to bed. I want to shout it out to you while playing in the streets. I want to murmur it over a cup of tea when we're half asleep. I want to say it softly to you while we walk hand in hand in the grocery store. I want you to say you love me.

But, we're not allowed.

Written with Song of Solomon 2:7 and Psalms 119:9 in mind. (and my frustration)