We were just close friends.
I loved the way you could make the grass stand up straight
With the way your lips moved when you spoke
And how the sounds your mouth uttered
Buttered the blades with a sparkling dew
But we were just close friends.

I loved your smell of vanilla and tobacco and
I daydreamed all day about sharing four cigarettes
With filters laced with your spine tingling mint Chap Stick.
I loved to watch your soft hands glide effortlessly up and down
The neck of your guitar and sometimes I thought of your fingers
Plucking blouse buttons instead of strings and I tried
To keep my voice from quivering as I sang along
But we were just close friends.

Sometimes we gave each other back massages without shirts but only because they would get in the way of hands carving sculptures into each others shoulder blades and once when we were high and drunk we even kissed and you leaned over my shoulder and whispered stop fighting it, let it happen and it was easy and gentle and felt like music and when you snuck my shirt up over my head the butterflies that had been fluttering ceaselessly in my stomach flew up with it and into your mouth and neither of us wanted to stop and we both knew we weren’t that high or drunk anyway but we had to be because
We were just close friends.

Then you fell in love with her.
And I said was so happy for you but my insides felt knotted and mangled and I wasn't sure why because we were only close friends after all and I wanted to be happy for you but I didn't want to share you and somewhere along the way I think we passed being just close friends but neither of us mentioned it because I couldn't let myself feel that way or I couldn't admit to feeling that way and then you found her and I didn't get to see you as much because you were busy sharing your minty cigarettes and kisses with her and singing songs about her and plucking her blouse buttons and then eventually we stopped being friends entirely.

Now its four years later and you are fine I think and I am fine I think but sometimes I still think about sharing cigarettes and secrets and kisses and sleeping with your arms wrapped around me like we did that summer when we were close friends and every time I hear the symphony that is the name Hannah I can still your smell vanilla skin and I get chills where you used to mold sculptures and sometimes I wish I had found the courage to tell you four years ago that maybe just maybe I wanted to be more than close friends.