friends. Just.

So does it feel good to act like a friend? To give me a hard time again, jokefully. Yeah. And those thumps in the shoulder, touching my feet, just as a friend would, maybe. A wink. Laughter. Let's go and dance to get this music out of our system! Total absurdity coming out of your mouth. Your deep black glare on my face when I don't look. And our Italian friend somehow uncomfortably cringing and winking and what not, 'hey you are a fine 'couple of friends' you' he says and I put the bad spell look on my face.
Then you came home with me. Trying to be all casual. We played guitar. And your eyes thoughtfully on my eyes. Sometimes I would stare right back and you would be the first to give up. Ironically.
My admittedly somewhat sentimental attempts to fall asleep on your shoulder and beg you to sing a lullaby for me to fall asleep are brushed away by akwardly tom-boyish attempts of your side to be my friend. Just.
Hey dude, I see you friday, talk to you tomorrow.
The casualties of this casual encounter grow by the minute.
And devastatingly unfortunate seems the manifesting realisation that this is just another beginning and the spark just undercover, ready to burn me again. This could be another life, another universe, maybe parallel, and maybe we are in 2005. Maybe we are flirting and maybe I am gonna fall into an abyss in a couple of minutes. Who knows. It's not certain.
Undeniably not over the bridge yet, although it seems to be peaceful in these war-devastated ruins of a street that is still glooming in past glories and dooms.
Forgive me, forgive me.
It wasn't me
Who chose. - Is that the point where I say thank you? Maybe. Just. Thanks.
Just.