It wasn’t about being ‘yours’ or calling you ‘mine’. It was about sharing a bottle of wine at noon because time was only an illusion. It was about sharing our biggest fears underneath a van Gogh starry night sky. It was about admiring each others strength to cut loose from past relationships. It was about giving each other nicknames and being silly about each others weird habits. It was about laughing at jokes, laughing at embarrassing stories, laughing in general. It was about being grateful when someone paid the check, being generous with hugs, being careful whilst running through an orange stop sign. It was about complementing the little things, the way she tucked her hair beneath her ear or how I’d write her letters. It was about casually slipping lovely words to each other and reaching for each others hands. It was everything. It was. It wasn’t love, that I could tell. She was just trying to be nice and I was trying not to fall for her. But I did. I never became ‘yours’ and she never became ‘mine’. My heart is still trying to understand that.
The overthinking 