The question of a lover

What are these feelings I have inside me?
They are too strong for a friend.
They are too intimate for a relative.
For a lover they must be intended.

They are of mixed composition.
Neither wholly of irrational desire.
Nor entirely of rational reason.
They derive from some middle ground.

My inner primate welcomes compulsion.
Satisfy the feeling, fulfil the need.
My erudite conscience is filled with unease.
What is their purpose? What is their function?

So I proceed to discover their meaning.
Introverting as I begin my journey.
Questions are asked of myself.
I reply with a pleasant willingness.

The answer is revealed unto me.
It’s a lover that I am missing.
Not for lust or shallow pursuits.
Not for flattery or self-assurance.

I seek something different from her.
We’d often converse of triviality.
Gaze at each other with curious eyes.
Exchange thoughts and giggles aplenty.

Yet I wonder am I really ready for this.
Is it a curious case of lust for normality.
I am quite comfortable me, myself, and I.
Do I want this, or is the grass just greener?