She lays there on
your bed and you look at her like
a painting, following every
stroke of her body.
Her eyes were
closed and moans
muffled. You kiss
her, secretly wishing she would
stop thinking
about the boy she
fucked the other day and admit
she loves you.
You know she loves you.
You memorize her every
inch and outline her
curves with your
fingertips, as to
always
have her shape next to
you when you fall asleep at night.

You sit in silence with
the girl you once
called your best friend
but now don’t know what to
call because you are
in love with her and she’s in love with
alcohol induced sex
with guys she doesn’t even know.
She knows you.

Thoughts scramble trying to fit
together into words and sentences but
must have gotten
lost on their way out your mouth.
You try to find a new
route, a new plan to capture her chaotic
heart she claims to not have.
But you feel it.
You feel it every time she walks into the
room and sits beside you, her arm
grazing your skin.
Every time you find the
nerve to kiss her and she
lets you.

You’re not friends anymore.
You’re not even fucking close.
You love her with every
beat of your speeding
heart. There’s no going back from
this.

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