Your words, a tangled melody,
Whisper "feelings," yet deny "love" to me.
My heart, a moth drawn to your light,
Flutters, confused, in the fading night.

Perhaps, dear friend, you paint a scene,
A fleeting warmth, a what-could-have-been.
Infatuation's spark, a passing flame,
But not the embers of love's burning name.

Or maybe kindness masks intent,
A gentle hand, yet feelings unspent.
Misunderstood...