“Oh my God, he’s like, so cute!”
I think back to the days when this is what we said
to each other.
We don’t say such things anymore.

“Her legs look nice in those jeans.”
I thought to myself, back when I was young and didn’t know
how that might mean something.
It was just an innocent thought and no more.

“You know you can’t force yourself to stop liking me.”
You said to me when I wrote you that letter, which
hurt but helped us.
Confession carried us through the end of the year, coasting.

“I hate that there’s no chance for me.”
I thought to myself as you talked on and on about
Him. That boy you adored.
I felt like giving up on you, but I knew I could not.

“I’m just worried that she’ll hurt you.”
You confided in me so many things about my relationship, ignoring
the feelings I had hidden for you.
Don’t get me wrong, I liked her, too.

“I was always worried that you’d desert me for her. I was jealous.”
You told me. Our friendship was founded on
my affections.
You were sure that without them it couldn’t stay strong.

“Look this way! Look at me! I adore you!”
I cried in my head. Echoes in my head don’t make a sound
outside, but I wished you could hear.
At the same I hoped you could not.

“It wasn’t men or women, it was… you.”
You told me, amidst my annoyance at your lack of response and my
eyes wide afterwards.
… Me? Me? It’s me? Me…

“I have to go to history class.”
I told you. Of course my first words after your confession are
idiocies—I’m paralyzed by hope.
Maybe, just maybe, we could be.