Friends

Once, when I was very young, I think I saw magic.

A ballroom, a slow waltz, a lady and a man.

At first glance, they seemed normal. He was dark and handsome, dressed impeccably in a neat suit. She had a deep sapphire ball gown and all the men stared.

But then I noticed that their eyes hadn’t left each other’s faces since they walked in.

There was so much that they wanted to say. So much that they couldn’t use their voices to share it.

They looked at each other in the way that lovers do, but there was something there that was more than lovers. It was like they used to know each other, that they used to be lovers, but they never quite made it. I think perhaps they used to be, but now they’re just them. Perhaps they used to sleep in the same bed and laugh in the mornings and fuck in the afternoon, but now they just smile and say that they are pleased to meet each other.

Those glances under thick lashes said that they were sorry for all that had come to pass, that they wish they had done more

but, at the end of the day,

when anybody asked,

the answer was always the same.

’we’re just friends’