Skouting For . . .

She is neither pink nor pale,
And she never will be all mine;
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,
And her mouth on a valentine.

She has more hair than she needs;
In the sun `tis a woe to me!
And her voice is a string of coloured beads,
Or steps leading into the sea.

She loves me all that she can,
And her ways to my ways resign;
But she was not made for any man,
And she never will be all mine.

—Edna St. Vincent Milllay

I am in love. Not exactly something that I want to admit. For many reasons. But I am. I shouldn’t be. For many reasons. But I am. She is nice and funny and down to earth and does not have a short fuse. She is beautiful. And she is straight. So it is out of the question. But I still am.