There's a reason why they call it a 'crush'
Because after all the thrill of the rush
After the blood that makes me blush
All I can say is I'm crushed. I'm crushed.

I'm crushed because I'll never hear
You say, "I'll always be here
And it's you I want to be near."
Alas, there is only crushing fear.

Fear that after I inevitably confess
Everything we were will become a mess:
Not only will I have no one to impress
But I'll be deprived of a friend, I guess.

Finally, I've found someone easy
To talk to, and be myself freely
But now I ask myself constantly
Do I want your love or your amity?

And of course, I've looked for signs.
I've even made wishes for you to be mine.
Eleven-eleven on my phone shines:
"Let us not forever be parallel lines."