Maybe, after all, you were never just a friend to me.
Can I just lend you my black wristwatch
and sit next to you on the bus in fieldtrip?
I will let you have the window seat,
even if I want it too.
I will rest on your shoulder
while falling asleep on the bus,
and pretend to not notice.
Can I just go with you at the barber shop
and watch the barber cut your hair,
while I pretend to not care;
can I just let you have my white face towel
and finally make it up?
Can I just give you my heart—
is that enough?
Is that really hard
for us to be together again,
is that really hard
to forgive—
to be the same as before?
Can I just let you have my phone,
and let you eat the chips I hold . . .
If we finally make it up,
I will give you my heart.
