I've always heard that real love is putting someone else's happiness before your own
I've also heard that it's the most painful kind of love to feel;
it's hard and rough

this love reminds me of your hands in some weird way,
you saw calloused messes at the same time I saw a home for my heart
my heart and I moved in together you see
and it wasn't the roomiest of places but it was the first place I've lived in that actually felt like a real home

your happiness on the other hand was never in the same place as mine
we could sit around for hours and while I found comfort in staring into your eyes, you found ways to compare mine to your coffee
I saw my future in you
but you saw an escape route from all the pain you've been feeling from being alone too much

we were never in love,
oh no,
but we definitely could have been