You’ve told me sweet words.
I’ve believed those words,
It began as something ordinary,
Although I was already shook when I saw you
And heard your voice.
You’ve then collected me, started to make me believe
That I always had a friend in you.
Oh boy, was I naive.
Didn’t know that it never could have happened,
That nothing more than professional would last.
Three years you’ve made me fall in love with the thing that connected us. With English.
The fourth we both started to pull away, both to our own realities.
The fifth year we knew each other, I drew a line, a metaphorical one,
While you drew a geographical.
We both knew that we can’t be friends, yet we tried to pretend.
And then, after all, when I knew your secrets, I didn’t judge you. Because I understood.
While you didn’t understand my secrets and feelings, you judged me. For being who I am.
So similar, yet so different.
Or did you understand me more than I do even now?
Was it love? Maybe you did save me. From me. From you. From us.