There's noo, no such thing as too young.

I make the plans, to drive to your house late at night, when my sense says that you're hurting. I'll bang on the door. If a parent answers, I'll run to your room and hold you. I'll sing to you if my voice isn't trashed from past mistakes. When you stop, I'll simply leave because the only thing I'll want to say is "I love you," and you don't love me. So what would the point be? I'll leave, wishing you still did, because I've loved you since I was five, wanted to kiss you since I was eight, and want to be yours.

Note from Alex:
Sorry that it's crummy. It was hard to write. Because I couldn't cry.