One arm wrapped around me,
The other, her
He stood between, a mountain
Of masculinty
His smile was not for me
But reserved for her
Always for her...
It was this feling
Of desolate solitude in me
That rushed the words out
Before my mind could argue
Against the haste
And in your eyes at that moment
Two things sang to me:
My opinions, once sought
were now unwelcome
for they broke the repeating
record you had constructed
of me, of you
of us...
And Two:
That it was never me
nor ever would it be
I was a friend
And loving you
Is not what you wanted me to do.
Author notes
Ignore the rash ramblings. This is actually just a form of an outline I have for something much more in depth.
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