I run back to that place we knew
it feels like summer and looks like you
but I stop myself like I should each time
because going back there is crossing a line.
I forget, sometimes, that it's not your fault
I could have dragged my feelings to a halt
before you found out, and I'd have been okay
because it wasn't supposed to happen this way.
As we cried until we could cry no more
(I still don't know what you were crying for)
you weren't supposed to kiss me,no
because you whispered that I should let you go.
Now that I've finished with feeling too much
at the shortest of looks, at too slight a touch
I'm happy we're close
even this way instead
Because if I'm honest, I love you, dear friend.
