but he's not just a friend!
we crossed that line in a hazy, sweaty, drunken accident.
and my heart cannot possibly forget it,
even if, it seems, his can.
when he tells me how he touched another
in the same way he touched me,
and it meant nothing to them,
but everything to me.
and the times, they are a-changing.
because when it began it was just late night passion,
just twice before we got weird and scared
and suddenly our friendship was forced.
and then it began again,
and it was my whole world:
biting and kissing and laughing against his chest,
warm and kind.
love is blind.
but the gods are not, and they have made me love him
as a cruel turn of mindless entertainment.
this is my life with which they play,
and i feel like the girl in the music box,
stuck twisting to a pretty tune.
timeless and melancholy.
he makes me dizzy
in the best ways.
and i want to be his friend if that's all i can get,
so i keep my mouth shut and wait to see if he will love me.
and the cynic in my mind tells me he never will,
but the romantic in my heart tells me he soon will.
his mother loves me,
so why can't he?
"is it better to speak or to die"
apparently, to speak.
but no, my lips will not part for words
only to kiss him again and again.