It hurts that we aren’t friends
That I don’t know you.
I met you, I got to know you and I became a part of you.
But we never became friends, did we?
You never told me your name but I found out anyway.
You never told me your favorite color. I still don’t know it.
Do you even have one? I’ve never asked and I might never ask.
I mean, we never talk about such things. I wonder why…
You’re there when I need you. Sometimes anyway.
I found out what your birthday is. I wish I had found out from you.
Do you even know when my birthday is? May be you do.
But I don’t know that you know so, it doesn’t really matter
I love you. I think I do. Sometimes I am not even sure I do.
You’ve never told me if you love me. I think if I asked you’d say you do love me.
But if I have to ask then what’s the point?
It hurts that I don’t know you. The real you.
It hurts that I can’t tell you all about me.
That even when we talk and laugh,
I still feel that empty space in my heart.
Am I not good enough?
Are you not good enough?
Shall we always be two very close strangers?
Will I ever stop hurting?
Maybe. Or Maybe not.