When did it start? When did I start waiting for Tuesdays? It feels like I’ve always loved that day, but no. Tuesday was just another day to cry, to laugh, and to live until the day I met you. You made Tuesday sound so perfect like it is our day- I mean, you don’t actually know, right? You may not know it but the thing is, all our tiny moments are collected on Tuesdays! And so I wait for it every week. I wait and I wait and I get tired of having nothing on Tuesdays and then you’d do something on a Tuesday again, and I’ll forgot how my steps are going farther. It doesn’t matter anymore, does it? You made it clear that the question should be “When will your Tuesdays end?” And so I wait. I wait for the Tuesdays to end. (It just won’t)
You create masterpieces,
Shaped my world only with your stare.
If I give you a canvas, what would you paint?
I knew you’d pick a few colors
With shades I’ll never know
Would it be the vibrant ones?
Or those that make everything dull?
Maybe you’d get a brush or a few
Then a water-well and a towel
And this blank canvas will soon tell a story
From brush and techniques I’ll never know
You almost did it. You had it done;
Had handpicked the colors,
Had canvas in front of you,
Had water-well to change tones,
Had a towel in case something drips, and
Had the brush in your hands!
You know, I could have been your artwork
But the paint did not touch the brush
And the canvas never felt any brush
Here comes the time of the day
Where this one thought will pop
Keeping the whole train wondering
If this thought’s from thinking of you
Or if this thought leads to you.
I would fight myself for this alone
Without having to wait,
But force a way for the answer
And the answer has always been none of the two
Just the usual maybe you are my every thought
“What’s the thought?” You may ask
And I’ll give you a smile for an answer
You’ll raise your eyebrow, pleading
I, of course, will notice and I know
I’ll have to brush it off, to step back, to stop
“He isn’t interested” I’ll say to myself
And that’s the thought that never goes away.
How do you like your coffee? Bitter or sweet?
Pardon me for not knowing a small detail
Pardon me for trying to know
The kind of cup you sip in the morning
And in the night, to keep yourself awake
Pardon me for believing I’d know your coffee
When you prefer a cup of tea.