Your friend
She is your friend.
It’s what you always say.
She loves your little friendship
And the fact that you are friends.
She cherishes it dearly
Because somehow you are hers.
But then she thinks about
The little things she notices.
You offering her your jacket
And asking if she’s cold.
Your excuse is you can hand it over
When you’re uncomfortable in it.
When your hands go to her waist
But never to theirs
As if its an excuse to touch her.
How you automatically reach for her hand
To help her where she needs.
Always ready to catch her if she falls.
You’ll wrap an arm around her,
Or even throwing it across her chest,
Hand hooked beneath a thigh
When taking wild curves
Seated in the backseat of the car.
How you tell her to lay her head
On your shoulder as you head home,
Your hand rested atop her head,
Your fingers caressing her cheek.
Or you pay for her drinks
Without asking her first.
You feed her chips,
Putting them in her mouth without
Hearing whether she’d like.
You get her water,
Run a finger across her cheek,
And lift the bottle to her lips.
You encourage her to drink
When you’ve decided she had enough.
You linger around her
Always close in proximity.
And that’s when the thoughts
Get the better of her.
And she has to wonder
If maybe you like her.
You’re just out of tune
With your emotions
Or you’re in denial
Because the friendship
Is worth more
Than a relationship
That could eff it over.
So maybe you like her
But you’d rather be her friend.
Because if anything,
Your actions
Don’t match your words.
|