on being friends

Over and over and over again, you say that we're just friends. Forget the implications, infatuations end.- Wilco (We're Just Friends)
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His hand brushes my far shoulder, and moves away as quickly as it came to rest there. I didn't even realize his arm was around me.

I swirl my empty glass between the palm of my hands. Forward. Back. Forward. Back. I wish there was something in it, or that I had the energy to go put something in it- but mostly i'm afraid if I walk away, that I won't have the opportunity to be sitting here again,

So I stay.

So how are things?

I tilt my head, my hair falling in front my face as I look at him.

His eyes aren't as green as I remember.

Terrible,

He says, and he sounds like he means it. His life is falling apart, and I'm struggling to hold mine together.

And here we find each other.

I made fun of you this weekend-

I tell him, trying to lighten the mood.

It was only to get better speaker points, though.

He doesn't seem to get the joke.

I would never make fun of you,

he tells me. I can't figure out if he's serious, or just trying to make me feel bad. I decide he's just trying to make me feel bad.

So what's so terrible,

joking was never my strong point.

If I tell you, you'll judge me.

He takes another swig of his beer.

I could judge you for a lot of things, and I never have-

I point out.

He nods his agreement,

I could judge you, too.

And here we find ourselves.

Conversing and friends... finally.