I like to remember our, my, our? first date fondly
We were young, and clueless, and so innocent
I remember thinking
"I would do anything to be the cause of that deep red flush that taints your porcelain face"
(Sometimes I call you my strawberry girl in the deepest parts of my psyche)
I'm smiling as I sit across from you on this picnic blanket
There's snacks and food scattered between us, separating us
Like they know something we don't
My hand is gripping the blanket in case I do something stupid
Like kiss you
But we are just friends and just friends don't kiss each other
I don't even know why I delude myself
I'm not your type at all
I'm not even sure I want to be your type or in your sphere or be any sort of possibility
And as I look at you across the table, ice cream melting in my cup
I have to look away
Or else I'll do something stupid
Like lean over and kiss you
Kiss you kiss you kiss you
Now my face is the red one
(Can I be your strawberry girl too?)
YOU ARE READING
Strawberry Pink
ŞiirA very late Valentine's gift to one of my best friends. Heavy undertones of unrequited love. This was technically supposed to be a love poem despite me giving this to a friend in a platonic way, then it just got sad
