I’m fine, don’t worry about it…

What? Yes I like him, I’m glad you’re dating him!

No, nothing’s the matter.

Ergh, the questions. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, and I can’t hurt her.

So why can I hurt me?

But then, why wouldn’t I be fine as they link their hands, as I see him squeeze her fingers with a clench of his palm, and my hands clench with his, squeezing the cold air?

Why shouldn’t I be happy for her – I know how much he means to her, and everybody says how good they are together. Everybody used to say how good we could be together.

Does it sound angsty and melodramatic to simply say I love her?

I love her.

And when she tells me she loves me too, I could cry. I’m her best friend. She told me I’m like a brother to her. Sweet.

The words taste stale on my tongue, and when I stop to think about what I’m telling her, telling myself, my heart hurts with it all.

But I will always be there for her, whenever she needs me. I don’t want anything in return.

It’s only me the lies hurt.