Mark my words, I might be something someday

It's Writing Wednesday!
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I listen to these words and I read these other words and then I have all these feelings. It's been a long time since I've written anything resembling a poem and like most of them, this one is untitled because then I don't have to say that it's finished and then it doesn't have to be real. Be kind. It actually isn't finished, it's rough. It's a work in progress. And it's been 'progressing' for too long already. 'Processing' is more like it. I'm so gay.
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I cannot make the
first move.
I think about it to
the point of exploding
but sit quiet, paralyzed.
One time, though, I did.
Head nuzzled drunk in her neck,
back seat of someone else's car
with two other people,
I snuck my hand into hers.
And the world didn't end.
She nuzzled back and with her
thumb stroked my palm and set
my skin on fire.
I was so afraid, I told her
later. She just laughed.
Must be easy to laugh when
it isn't your heart
on the line.
That might have been
the first crack.
There was another night-
I sat sleepily at the
end of her bed-
she looked at me with doe eyes,
patted under the covers next to her.
Like a puppy I jumped.
Falling asleep curved next to her,
she traced my eyes, nose, lips
over and over with her fingertips.
Light touch, lovingly.
I felt safe.
When I mentioned it later she
claimed not to remember.
Another crack.
When she gave me that
elephant and
I named it Spencer, she
laughed again.
At the name and at me for
watching that show.
The whole time I was Spencer-
new to girls but sure of
my feelings for her.
She was Ashley, refusing to
be labeled, keeping
me at arms length.
Push and pull, heart
cracking more.
When I said it had to be more
than friends or nothing,
she let me go.
It wasn't like the tv.
It never is.
Months of me giving her my heart
in every way I could think of
and nothing mattered.

Someone else needs
to break my heart again.
So I'll have more
to write about.