Just Friends

Could we have found each other, in a softer world, In another lifetime? Would our hands have met naturally, and our hearts have opened wider? Would our days have been filled with simple joys, and our evenings wrapped in love, while lying under a gentle cloak of stars? In this version of life, we are friends. Merely dreaming, speaking in whispers of “what might have beens” if only, the world had paused. Each shared moment, laced with want, but held sacred. Each shared smile, and quiet exchange life affords us, a celebration.Beneath our companionship, a deeper current pulls; a silent longing, that flows strong, but hidden. This defines the gentle limits of bond. Our tale; though penned without flourish, or grand gesture leaves a trace of something tender, and unfulfilled in my soul. In our narrative of quiet affection, and silent yearning. I walk alone, holding my bouquet of might-have-been. Acknowledging the beauty, and the restraint of unspoken love. But in this world we are just friends.