I hear my phone buzz with the arrival of his question. - Can we grab a cup of coffee sometime?
Eight words. Ten syllables. Simple enough, and yet I could feel the anxiety rise in me. How could something as mundane as coffee make me quiver with confusion?
I have no need to be worried. He's a good guy. He's repeatedly proven himself to be someone I could trust. Always respectful and considerate. Never once has he made me uncomfortable.But he is not him.
My heart doesn't swell when I see him walk into the room. We talk a lot, but within minutes we run out things to say. I don't crave the smell of his cologne or wonder what his lips taste like.He deserves a chance though, or at least a real answer.
I'll have to check my schedule.
YOU ARE READING
What I Once Called Love: The Drafts
PoetryThis is my story, or rather a compilation of stories that spans more than a decade. Each piece is written from a place of truth with the exception of the names mentioned. The book itself will broken into sections, with each representing a different...
