I don’t think we were ever supposed to be a thing.
That we were never meant to be more than just strangers…
but something happened.
I don’t know what though.
Perhaps this is just an illusion,
one that I can’t seem to pull myself out of.
That those nights filled with laughter and deep conversations
until the clock reads two… is solely just a picture scribbled
inside my head.
But even then, somehow you still seem to know
me better than I know myself.

How did we find ourselves here?
How did I become so lucky to break down
those walls you’ve worked so hard to build?
How did I find a guy who looks past all of the things
I try to hide from myself?
More than friends yet not technically lovers,
our story is a forgotten fairy tale—
with meaning that has been lost in translation.
Perhaps maybe one day, we can break out
our old notebooks and ink pens
and begin to write our own.