Sugar In My Bowl

You are not for me.
I know this because I cannot remember where you want to go to college, where you have lived, worked, or traveled, nor the names of your close relatives. I don't fret over these details, my subconscious must not count them important enough to take note of. I ask questions, then let my mind wander. I could probably relay more information about the decor of the restaurants where we have dined than I could about our topics of discussion while inside. I am making an effort at the art of conversation, but it's just not clicking, and it's hard to say who lost interest first. You are not for me and I am not for you. I know this because you don't even ask the questions. At least then you don't have to feel bad for not remembering the answers. You know a lot of facts, and make an effort to show me all I don't know. When I first met you I could look into your eyes forever, but when I told you that you just looked away.

You are not for me, either.
But at the end of the day we can have a conversation and we both walk away feeling good about ourselves. I can remember the position you played on your high school basketball team, that you don't like avocado, but you do like Charles Barkley, and I know the year you'll be eligible to run for president. You laugh at my jokes, are grateful for the dinners I make, and come talk to me about things that you think are too serious for your girlfriend. It's not a big deal, but I still remember the night that you told me the way you like to be kissed, and recently your slightly flirtatious comments can keep me awake at night. You are not for me and I am not for you, but you look me in the eye and smile.