Your friend

She is your friend. It’s what you always say. She loves your little friendship And the fact that you are friends. She cherishes it dearly Because somehow you are hers. But then she thinks about The little things she notices. You offering her your jacket And asking if she’s cold. Your excuse is you can hand it over When you’re uncomfortable in it. When your hands go to her waist But never to theirs As if its an excuse to touch her. How you automatically reach for her hand To help her where she needs. Always ready to catch her if she falls. You’ll wrap an arm around her, Or even throwing it across her chest, Hand hooked beneath a thigh When taking wild curves Seated in the backseat of the car. How you tell her to lay her head On your shoulder as you head home, Your hand rested atop her head, Your fingers caressing her cheek. Or you pay for her drinks Without asking her first. You feed her chips, Putting them in her mouth without Hearing whether she’d like. You get her water, Run a finger across her cheek, And lift the bottle to her lips. You encourage her to drink When you’ve decided she had enough. You linger around her Always close in proximity. And that’s when the thoughts Get the better of her. And she has to wonder If maybe you like her. You’re just out of tune With your emotions Or you’re in denial Because the friendship Is worth more Than a relationship That could eff it over. So maybe you like her But you’d rather be her friend. Because if anything, Your actions Don’t match your words.