If you want,
I could ride my bike across town to where you are under the illumination of dim buzzing street lamps and identical houses with porch lights and darkened bedroom windows.

If you want,
I could sit on the curb across the street from your house anxiously waiting and feeling the rough and warm concrete make indents in my palms.

If you want,
I could grin at the sight of you slipping out and closing the door softly behind you so you don’t wake your parents, sheepishly tiptoeing down the front steps to greet me.

If you want,
I could fight the urge to burst into laughter and ruin the silence blanketing suburbia when the kids are all asleep and the Priuses are all parked in their garages.

I could ignore the pounding in my chest and tell you I really really like you,
If that’s what you want.