I remember the day I finally accepted the fact the we were completely, one-hundred percent, throw-it-in-your-face-and-like-it-you-pig platonic. We were both sitting on the couch, doing absolutely nothing except listen to our friends. My legs draped over yours, your hands on my knees. Statistically, people aren't generally that intimate with people they're not interested in. And as my mind wandered down that train of thought, it was brought up short by a brick wall spray-painted with fifty foot letters: "NO."
I can't explain it. I can't comprehend it. But something in my chemical makeup just refuses to be compatible with yours in that way. And I know it's the same for you. Because when the wall goes up in my head, I can see it reflected in yours. Whenever someone brings it up, or we spend just a wee bit too much time together, it happens. The wall. And that wall never comes down. It never wavers. All it is, is a slap in the face saying, "No, no. Not that. Never that."
I think it's because we're so technically different. We have the same interests. Music, movies, a mutual hatred of parties (don't lie, you do). But everything else is so completely different. Driven, lazy. Crazy, structured. Overly nice, bitterly mean. By all means, we shouldn't even be friends. We just don't fit each other's frequencies, and that makes you out of reach. And that day on the couch, I could finally accept that. I could stop caring that everyone wanted us to be together, or that people (including you) make jokes about us being married. Because I could finally accept that it's just our routine, dreaming of things we wanted and making memories. That's all you wanted with me, and it's all I wanted with you. You're just good company, and I can finally accept that.
Remember the time when we stole the whole day? It can't be undone.
And it's forever mine.
And it's forever yours.