Our only picture

I’ve got this one picture of us two sort of together,
the only memento of a night spent dancing with you,
although rather funny as you’re drunk asleep on a chair
and I’m standing behind, in creepy lighting, teasing you.

I always look at it when I feel under the weather,
caress your pic with my fingers, wishing you were with me.
It proves that though not admitting it, by then I did care,
so I came to you, not wanting you to give up on me.

It seems I blew my sole chance for a date altogether.
Now I miss you so much and dream of making love to you
and being a part of your life. But you don’t want me there
as I’m not someone you’d wish to take interest in you.