Love is just like a classroom.
The class waits for the teacher to pick the student.
"Pick me, pick me," thats what everyone say.
We raise our hands, hoping to be chosen.
Dismayed once the teacher picks the right student, hands fall.
Unhopefuls cry, tears streaming down their cheeks.
Similarly, she waits. Waits for the right one.
The teachers she had seen couldnt show her love.
They never liked her. The lessons she had with them were'nt proper.
She had wished it worked out, unfortunately it never did.
She scans the classroom. Too many classmates have left.
Its sad right. To see yourself being classified under the rejects.
She doesnt bother to raise up her hand anymore-it is too weak.
The right one comes in, and looks around to see hopefuls raise their hands.
But the teacher comes to her, looks her in her eye and tells her,
"you arent a reject, you are mine"

And thats the same thing you told me.
But how many other students have you told that to?

As i passed you the roses, i caught your smile.
Yes, look who is acting Gentlemanly - me or you?