Three sixteen of the fourteenth of six

We don’t have a lot in between, to say we have something here.
We hang out with friends, have a couple of small talks and inside jokes that only we share together, but we do it with other people around.

We eat together, but mostly just because we asked people out but they refused to join us.

I remember that time when you tried making me feel better, the way you do it. You held my face, and I almost reached them to yours so my lips can feel your lips. But fortunately, or unfortunately, I managed to control myself and stopped.

You held my face, like you held my heart.

Close enough for comfort, but not too close to claim yours. Or what you want to love. Or who you want to love. No, that’s not me.

You smile at me, but not because of me. You hold my hand, but you don’t hold me. You love, but not me. You love me, but not as how I love you.

And this is all we are and can ever be. There’s always something in between, but only for me. You’re there, but it’s just because you care enough to stay with me.

We can only have so much, but not us.


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