Inquisitively

Friends are a great discomfort sometimes, you know? An inquisitive friend of mine, he asked me who you were. To me. And I couldn't come up with a convincing answer. I had none. My heart shrank for a moment and then I nervously told him that you were just an acquaintance. World is a small place. It's hard not to know people. Just an acquaintance. Did I say friend? I don't even remember. I was a little too shocked. It was like our tiny secret could be out in the open anytime, my little secret. I told him that we knew each other mutually, just like that.

I didn't tell him a lot of things. A hoard of things. The way you lost your sleep when I wanted you to be awake. The way you never got me down from cloud nine. The way you made me laugh, breathlessly sometimes. How at the end of those laughs I would have forgotten why I had begun laughing in the first place. Yeah, that crazy! I didn't tell him all this. I trust you haven't told anyone either, have you? I hid from him memories of our endless conversations, late into the nights. I didn't tell him about your caresses and kisses to my early morning sleepy mumbles. He doesn't deserve to know, does he? Some stories should die untold. Unheard. Some secrets are created to be frozen. I didn't tell him how much you had entered into my conscious, how you were almost on my speed-dial these days. How you lived in the back of my mind, all day and all night. I didn't tell him about my endless waits, I didn't tell him about my bouts of madness, utter madness, that unruly longing to belong to you. Nah, nothing. I didn't tell him that I was practically in love with you. I didn't tell him why we couldn't be together. Nothing at all. I hope he doesn't have the slightest idea and isn't mocking at me inside. I would hate that. Fuck, I hate inquisitive friends. I just hate-hate them.