Dear friend, look what they are making me do.

The whispers tell me, Of how good you are to me, They say that I should feel the butterflies, Smile when we touch, Their excitement of you excites me, They think of you as I wait on you, With rosy cheeks and a glowing heart, It’s the whispers who said, That’s how a friend should make you feel.

It’s the whispers that lied to me, That our crazy chats are rare, They envy our closer ,great friends they say, Bad whispers, now I can’t tell you of you, That am falling for you , You who belongs to another, But only the whispers know, Is it not their fault?

The whispers know you are scared, Of the sparks you feel, Of what I may make you feel, But we’ll never hurt the other, I won’t let you, I won’t let the whispers, And you’ll never know of my butterflies, Of how deep am falling.

The whispers say, I should tell you of them, When we hold hands, As you tell me of your troubles, As I tell you of my fears, You’ll say, “I’ll never leave you friend, ” As I say, ” I got you, oh sweet friend ” I may tell you of the whispers, What they are making me do, It is the whispers I blame, For this beautiful kind of pain.

Mary.

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