If you get close you can smell the forest campfire and sweet watermelon around him

you’ll be able to see his eyes blessed with honey and caramel pools that capture the Sun

And may even run your hands through his hair that is a lonely obsidian planet in a starry sky

But it’s not romance.

It’s not romance when he holds you like the warm bed in the morning that you’re so reluctant to leave

or when he smiles and you can feel a security you never knew you needed

It’s not that kind of love when holding hands doesn’t give you sparks but rather wanting to never let go

His laughter brings euphoric summertime freedom, but it’s not romance

You just need his support like one of your limbs and loving him is what you’re doing but it’s not romance

It’s not romance when you give him your shoulder support, even if it’s a little weak

It’s not romance if either one of you needs space and be willing to offer the other an entire galaxy

It’s not romance… it can’t be