She sits on her bed and stares blankly at the ceiling above, suffused and cramped with posters of her favourite bands.
She was musing on the usual unraveling question again.
Is it even possible to fall in love with a friend?
What is a friend?
I am a friend
He is a friend
But why do butterflies begin to scatter and flutter about my guts everytime he smiles at me.
Why does a feeling of rapture gush down the end of my arteries everytime he whispers my name.
Why do I get teleported to the paradise above everytime he speaks.
Why does it feel like he's painting the entire night sky with every word he utters.
Why does a brisk glimpse of him light up my heart like a furnace.
Why do I find solace in his existence.
Should you ever let your friend know about it all?
Or should you always make it a part of all your locked up feelings?
Troubled and worn out, she tossed and turned to the other side of the bed facing the wall and wonders whether he'd want to know or not.
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YOU ARE READING
MUSE
PoetryHighest ranking : #45 in poetry "Muse" is just a short compilation of my writings which if you may like to can regard as poems and proses. This is a work of pure fiction, names and places used are completely fictional. (It may contain amateur wri...
