She sat, flustered,
gazing at the moon
when he approached.
Her cheeks grew red with a slight embarrassment,
as she so suddenly adjusted her gaze
to the ground.
Secretive love escaped her mouth
as soon as she whispered hello.
That is when surroundings
grew unimportant,
and smiles crept across faces
like shadows on the pavement.

He seemed to admire her sun-kissed skin
and her slightly curly, golden hair.
I could tell that every thought
that trailed out of her mouth,
he understood.
He understood her.

She looked at that boy like he made enjoying life easy,
like he held the world in his hands,
and maybe he did.
Maybe they’d be in love one day,
or maybe they already were.
But one day,
they’d share the sunrise together
and they’d be happy.
Those blue eyes
that were ever so often compared to clear skies,
she could finally call hers.
Maybe one day he’d tell her
he could see stars in her eyes,
even when she only found pleasure in gazing at the moon.

But it was almost a tragedy
because while walking away from my sight,
the two would brush hands.
They would look at each other with astonishment,
unable to interlock fingers,
unable to tell the other how they really felt,
unable to differentiate love
from friendship.