Just a Friend

Why do words affect me so much?
Why do his words mean more than anything?
He's just a friend.
Why do I trust him when others worked for years for the things I give him without a second thought?
Why does he demand my attention, even when I don't want to give it, or shouldn't?

He's off limits. I can't, shouldn't be feeling anything for him.
My dreams shouldn't have him as the main star,
I shouldn't remember the glide of his fingers against my skin so well.
I shouldn't treasure his smiles in a secret, hidden, well guarded, locked up tight part of my heart.
I shouldn't blush like a nineteenth century woman at the act of only kissing his cheek.
I shouldn't freak out over an accidental brush of lips in the dark.
He's just a friend.

I shouldn't ask personal questions, none of this is any of my business.
I shouldn't be feeling this.
He's just a friend.
I shouldn't want to kiss him, to ask him to kiss me more than anything I've ever wanted before.
And I don't ask.
I can't keep thinking about him, I need to stop.
I can't imagine being with him.
He doesn't look at me like that.
He's just a friend.