You were never mine, but we were close.

Our words, our embraces, the way we laughed—we were connected. Maybe through time and place. Maybe through the way we always knew how to bring a smile to one another’s faces. Maybe because nothing was ever said, but the feelings were still there, hiding just below the surface.

You were never mine, but sometimes it sure felt like you were.

It felt right when you would turn to me for advice, when we’d stay up late on the phone and I’d giggle from too much wine. It felt right when I listened to you share stories about your father, or your brothers, or the girl you used to love when you were young. It felt right when you told me secrets that no one else knew, and when I made promises to keep them, and did.

Maybe nothing was ever said about ‘us,’ and what we were, but it was implicit. I would have fought for you. I would have died for you. I would have kissed you, if you let me.

You were never mine, but I loved you.

I loved you fiercely, on your hardest days. I loved you deeply, when you rested your tired head on my shoulder. I loved you patiently, as I watched you chase after women who would never give you their full hearts.

I loved you from a distance, as you fell for someone who wasn’t me.

And maybe at the time it didn’t hurt. There was something unspoken between us, some dividing line that we didn’t cross because we were never each other’s to have, to hold, to keep.

I didn’t mind it then, loving you from afar, being your support, your confidant, your buddy, your friend. I didn’t want more because I felt like I already held all the parts of you safe in my chest.

It wasn’t until distance came between us that I realized how hard it is to miss something that was never yours to miss.

You were never mine, but I still miss the way you’d close your eyes when you were stressed and lean your head back to face the ceiling. I still miss the way you’d kick off your shoes and crack open a beer the second you’d walk through the door. I still miss the way you’d laugh at the stupidest pictures on the Internet and send them to me, even though you’d see me just a few hours later.

I still miss the way you’d confide in me, the way you’d tell me about her, the way you’d lean on me for advice and comfort and laughter.

Because it was always so easy between us.

I still miss the way I felt like I was yours, even though I never was.

You were never mine, but I still miss you. Every single day.
I was never yours, but sometimes I wonder if you ache for me, too.