I spend the late hours of the night
staring at a white screen
in a beam of moonlight.

While I love to read,
reading things that are proven to be true,
there are some things I wish I never knew.

Love is a fickle thing.
It’s in the air, it’s in your eyes, it’s everything.
I hate the way he looks at me.
I hate the way my love for him flows through me.
And while that relationship in December seemed to be
anything but embers, it seems I’m the only one that remembers…

He made me feel special.
He made me feel loved.

What do you mean “it didn’t occur”
And that fact that I read
that night in my bed,
we’re still friends; it all makes sense.
You’re never tense, but there’s always that subtle suspense,
but when I read those few words,
it seemed like a blur, “If two past lovers can remain just friends, they are still in love, or they never were.”

I see the way you look at me
I know the way I feel about you
I hoped that there is another story
About me and you,
but in the end, it’s just another wound to mend.

But you’re still my best friend