I Am Twenty-One

Two-thirty am and a boy I vaguely know is outside my house.
I Just Want To Talk.
The night is without comment, the morning is this sad damp promise and with the rain falling straight and without compromise I think, as I look across the suburb from the drive, this would be something to look at with someone you love.
But I don’t love him.
You Don’t Even Know Me.
I Know.
But from where we are I can see my lover’s light, the curtains open, with a different woman, more woman than me. And I think I Could Love You, Maybe. I could love anyone.