"I remember the way you looked at me,"
she says, her eyes tracing the lines
of his face, like mapping a city
she had left behind, but never really forgot.
"Back then, I mean."

He chuckles softly, the kind that holds
a thousand unsaid things,
"Still do, I suppose," he replies,
the words like a breeze, calm,
as if nothing ever broke between them.

She pauses, watching his hands
as he plays with a toy truck,
gently, as if it were something fragile.
"You’re a good father," she says,
like it’s the safest thing she can admit.

He smiles, but there’s a shadow there,
"Guess that’s what you get
when life doesn’t go as planned,"
he says, his voice casual, too casual.
"You chose our friendship over us, remember?"

She feels a twist in her chest,
the kind that reminds you
of something lost but still lingering,
"And you, why did you stay?"

He looks up, his eyes steady,
"Because that’s what friends do," he says,
"Stay, even when things break a bit."

And she nods, feeling the weight of it—
this small, quiet truth between them,
knowing some choices
can never be unmade,
and some bridges,
even when crossed,
are meant to be left behind.

© reddragonfly
#friendzone