THE BOY

Hey there, Stranger.

Meeting up next Friday.

It’s a strange thing—how the smallest kindness from a straight boy who cannot love me the way I crave

still lights a fire beneath my skin.

We are only friends.

We have only ever been friends.

Yet somehow, my heart forgets its place, blurring lines it has no right to cross.

Perhaps it’s the way their attention feels different,

like sunlight slipping through a crack in the door—

something rare, something I was never meant to touch.

Or maybe it’s loneliness, dressing itself up as hope.

I never quite know how to wear myself in these moments.

Should I bury the feeling deep,

or let it flicker for a little while longer,

just to remember what it feels like to be noticed?

The truth is, I am looking forward to it.

To the laughter, the easy conversations,

the weightlessness that only true friendship can offer.

There is no real desire tied to his name, no desperate love story waiting to unfold—

only this soft, foolish hunger

for something more.

I hate how affection and longing bleed into each other.

How easily my mind writes stories from glances and smiles meant only in kindness.

I’ll tell you how it all ends.

Whether I manage to stay grounded,

or whether the heart, foolish as ever,

pulls me under once again.