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We Can't Be Friends
“We need to talk.”
He didn’t want to say it like this, but he needed to tell me.
He loves me. That’s what he’ll say. I’ll ignore my heart. Logic always wins, right?
“I think we should just stay friends.”
Friends. Aha. I’ll ignore my heart. Passion never wins.
I’ll pretend I don’t want him to play with my favorite necklace. I could care less if he never grabs the chain and yanks me in again. I don’t want him to wrinkle his nose when he leans in for a kiss.
I won’t want him sliding his arms around to my back. I won’t want him to pin me down and look at me, and I would rather forget how much I hate not being able to kiss him when he does that.
Its better this way, and my head completely agrees. My brain believes that I don’t need him. My heart will believe it too. I’ll tell myself in the mirror that I look better without him. I don’t need his soft brown skin warming mine in every picture. I’m pretty without him.
I won’t need his wild and hungry eyes. I won’t need his soft and tender eyes, either. I’m better off without his brown eyes. I’ll survive without them breaking my heart. Love is blind.
I wish that I was better at lying to myself.
I’ll want to hug him, every time I look at his arms. I’ll long to kiss him every time I see his mouth. And when he speaks with those lips, I’ll want him to sing the way he did two weeks ago above his radio’s AM static. And when I see his fingers, I’ll die for him to play my out of tune piano with me next to him on the bench.
I’ll want him to hold me and whisper he loves me, like he always used to do when I was cold. I’ll want him to grab my face in both hand and kiss me like there was no one else. I’ll watch him take her hand and wish it was mine.
But most of all, I’ll want him forever.
“No, we can’t be friends.”