I still remember the last time we spoke.
I mean really spoke, old school through our eyes.
We were having lunch with our friends – something we used to do often.
That day, my boyfriend had tagged along.
I introduced him to our friends.
You looked at him, avoiding my gaze the whole time.
You drank more than usual that day.
And then you said to him, “I don’t like you”.
I flashed you an angry look and demanded an apology.
You just shrugged and looked at me. You didn’t speak, but your eyes did. For the first time they showed your true feelings.
As time passed, we stopped talking. No random messages, no secrets told, no debates on which football team is better and oh! No long poems either.
I don’t know if this one is poetry or prose, or just a message in a glass bottle.
I’m getting married this year.
Couldn’t find the courage to call you, you have moved on too. She’s pretty, your girl.
Does she know you secretly like Chelsea? Does she listen to your favorite band and pretend she hates it? Well, I guess she does.
We’ll be alright. You know that, right?