Grey area

Why is it that even on the best days, those hands feels like it's around the wrong waist? As much as I try to make myself feel more, it never goes beyond the fuzzy feelings on the inside. Where are the butterflies, the fluttering of my heart? You asked me to try and so I did, but am I compromising all that I once believed in for a boy I know God never intended for to stay? How I wish I could hand you my heart and say, "I trust you with this, please don't drop it." But what hurts is the fact that I know you could throw it down from the 12th floor and yet it won't hurt nearly as much as the last boy who let it slip out of his fingers for just a few mere moments.