What do you mean when you say we’re just friends?
Like it’s a line drawn clean, sharp between us.
But I remember the way your eyes lingered,
the way your laughter echoed,
how the air shifted when we stood too close.
Like the universe tilted, just a little,
whispering something only we could hear.
I think about that night—
The stars dimmed just for us,
The space between breaths filled with something unsaid.
We kissed, didn’t we?
Slow and hesitant,
Like we were crossing a boundary we weren’t sure should exist.
But we did. And the world didn’t stop.
It only spun faster,
our hands fumbling in the dark like we were finding something
that had been lost for too long.
You smiled after,
and I thought, This is it.
This is where the story changes.
Where friends become something more,
and the word “just” melts away,
leaving only the echo of what could be.
But now, you look at me with that same steady gaze.
And you say, We’re just friends,
like it’s always been that way.
Like none of it happened.
I blink—
Because maybe it didn’t.
Maybe the kiss was only in my head,
a dream I built between quiet conversations and stolen glances.
Maybe every almost was just me,
filling in the gaps with what I wanted to believe.
And now I sit here, wondering—
If it was all in my mind,
or if you ever saw it too.
But either way,
we’re just friends,
aren’t we?
Leave a Reply