We laid barefoot in the grass counting clouds that look like trees. You said, "There's a forest in the sky." One that I just couldn't see. You brushed a bug off of my neck and walked your fingers down my spine, counting each notch like a step like when you were a child. You laid your palm flat on my back, said my name, and bit my ear. Crawling closer to my side, you whispered, "I love you, dear."
But that was then, and this is now. We still talk now and then. Last time it was hard for me to say, "We can't be friends."