Strawberries

2

I miss the days when I was just a friend.

It was easy, to be a friend.

Sitting on that scratchy brown carpet in his room, leaned easily upon the side of his bed, guitar at hand, lyrics flowing through the air to my lips, and knowing he was sat next to me with that grin.

It was easy, to be a friend, when proximity didn't make me stutter, when a compliment didn't make me look at him with that dumb wide-eyed stare.

It was easy to grab his hand and lead him to a secret place when his skin didn't burn mine.

It was easy to stare into his eyes because I didn't feel the need to shift my gaze, almost guiltily, away from his own.

It was nice, seeing the almost rehearsed, reoccurring emotions animate his features when I played.

I liked seeing the effect my voice had on him when I sang, the awe, wonder, admiration...

Now, I played on, my eyes closed, because I knew I would mess up if I had to look at him, but I could see him even still in my minds eye.

I sometimes think I know him too well.

Him. Sitting so still and eager, and so close to me.

Him. Smiling so much that I could feel his smile grow when I began to play the tune of his favorite song. I played it for him so often, it kind of became my favorite too.

Familiar notes spilled over shaking fingers as they slowly lost all trace of recognizability, inching into a melody of my own inspiration.

I was creating something new.

Practiced hands became unsure as chords fell uncertainly into a new song, my eyebrows scrunched in concentration, my lips moving over words to embody aesthetic.

The tickle of soft grass fell from my lips, the babbling of a brook was found in my words. The soft tops of mushrooms carried my voice higher, until it dropped to touch the sweet, gentle ground I'd lay upon too many times.

Warmth, on my back, in the hand that I hoped to keep holding forever.

Bubbly laughter and reverberating tones filled my sight as my eyes slipped closed.

Darkened hair that wished to blow away on the breeze, held tight by fingers that threaded through and soothed.

A melody of my life, words spoken but never seemed like enough. There was never enough said.

The warm body at my side moved closer, but I went on, feeling my knee press into another's.

The heat in my chest that fueled my song erupted, and I there was too much to feel in a single second.

A hand pressed to the side of my face, and I didnt dare open my eyes, for fear that I would loose my focus and fall, fall, fall.

I was immortal, floating and yet more grounded than I had ever felt. I was numb, but how could I help feeling everything when he was touching me. My body was on fire, every fiber pushing me to keep going, keep going, keep-

Too soon, delicate lips were pushing against my own, and my next words died on my tongue, but that flame in my chest burned on.

Confusion, happiness, and unrelinquished triumph rang in my ears as I kissed back, not daring to miss this chance. I couldnt miss this. I couldnt forget this.

I couldnt lose this.

I was still leaning towards him when he pulled away from me, and it felt like i couldnt open my eyes for several moments after, obsessed with imagining that he was still kissing my dreams true.

My eyelashes fluttered and I could see again, immediately being pulled to meet the gaze of green pupils, wide and surprised.

My fingers had long stilled on my guitar, waiting for instruction.

My mouth almost slipped into a smile, and I almost let my lips say everything then.

But he was standing up in a rush, blonde hair becoming a blur as his ragged rucksack was lifted from the floor and his feet floated across the room.

My hands pulled away from the instrument in my lap with discordinant notes that made Clay flinch.

But he turned to look at me, eyes unreadable, and a gentle smile on his face that made me slightly relax.

"I'll see you tomorrow, George."

He was smiling, like nothing was wrong.

Because it wasnt wrong, was it?

It wasnt bad, was it, if I enjoyed it all- f this afternoon pulled me to chase after another moment like this one?

No, we weren't wrong.

And so I smiled too, far too wide, and I agreed.

"Yeah, cant wait."

He took a step outside my door, and it was easy to watch him leave, but he froze instead.

"We, uh," he turned to face me again, small smile on his face. "We wont talk about this again, right?"

A warm autumn evening turned cold when winter blew in.

I smiled again, regretfully, painfully, and I agreed.

"Yeah, of course."

And he left, forgetting the immeasurable burden that he'd placed in my bedroom.

And I cried, because I was wrong.

We were wrong.

And I had forgotten all the words to my new favorite song.

I miss the days when we were just friends.