you’d slip your arms round my shoulder and i never noticed. we hit off like a house on fire,
twenty questions, twenty answers, twenty questions, another twenty answers, twentyquestionstwentyanswerstwentytwentytwenty.
in between the days of studysessions friendlyhangouts i thought i loved you. i saw the way you looked at me and i wanted to put a meaning to it. so i wrote my own dictionary filled it with you.
i wish i’d known that some things can’t be explained.
i worked so hard for us to be just friends. never mind the way your arm would bump mine in the empty hallways, or how you’d slow down a little to keep beside me. we were platonic, nothing more.
and then you were ripped apart from me.
there is a gaping hole in my heart and it looks like you, the sharp point of your jawline, the little wisp of your hair that always stands, the hand of yours that brushed mine and it hurts.
nothing hurts more than i thought it ever would.
i think i love you. home has never been brick walls built on concrete sidewalks. home is in your arms and i don’t ever want to let you go, not when the world is sandpaper rough and ready to peel off the layers of your being. i want to know what it feels like to hold your hand, want to know what your heart sounds like, want to hear your voice slip between the haze of my anxiety, soft and sweet like lullabies cradling my fears and putting them to rest.
i don’t know if you love me. i don’t know what it means when you offer me your loose change or smile at me, don’t know what it means when you whisper a silent confession into the shell of my ear or when you hand me a slice of pizza. i don’t know what you think of me or how i should feel about you.
i don’t know if absence made your heart grow fonder.