Why do you do it?

'Why do you do it?'
he asked...

'What?'

'It,' he said...
'Why do you do it?'

I thought...
not long, but long enough
like a referee making a call
processed, but not overdone

'Love,' I said...

he waited...

'Not so much love for what I do,
but love for who I do it for,'

he stared...

'Love for my friends,
Love for my future family,
Love for you...'

he smiled, but remained silent...

'I don't mean to sound unselfish,
but that is why,
I have no interest greater than my friends.
There is nothing I can do
longer than have a conversation.'

I work only to be able
to buy them dinner, to spoil them
not because they want me to
like they wouldn't smile
if I didn't pick up the check,

we could eat peanut-butter
sandwiches at two-fifty a week
and still share in the same laughter,
but I love to take them out,
to surprise them
I study so I can stay in school,
stay with them
I don't really have any other
interests besides my friends,
well interests, yes, but I mean loves...

even writing, as I write this down
is just a hobby, everything, is just a hobby
one I'm sure I will grow tired of,
but never could I grow tired of this,
sitting in your passanger seat
carrying on long conversation
that depress me greatly
but make me so much happier,
Love,' I said...

he nodded,
'Okay...good.' and started the car