The Willow Tree

I had a friend who hated potential,
Said it made him feel superficial.
He always wrote his words in pencil
And his signature was his initials.

Once a month he'd come to me
And we'd sit beneath a willow tree
Blowing gently in the breeze
Reflecting on how life could be.

I thought I was in love with him
But he and I were just good friends.
Growing up we'd play pretend
And he was the one who'd always win.

Yet once a month he'd always share
His schemeing dreams in evening air
And I was wildly aware
Of just how life could be unfair.

His hand was oh so close to mine
As he shared the workings of his mind
But I knew our fates had been assigned
Since I was eight and he was nine.

And here we were at twenty-three,
Raging hormones and willow trees,
Sitting humbly in the breeze
Reflecting on how life could be.

But when he brought out his guitar
You could hear my breaking heart.
I said it was the willow bark
Singing to the evening stars.

But silently we both agreed
That I loved him and he loved Me
But it wasn't meant to be
So we'd meet beneath the willow tree.