He was kind.
The kind of kind that made you wonder if he felt something more.
He said things like "You're so easy to talk to"
and "You always get me."
But he never called me his.
I was "sweetheart" in lowercase.
In passing.
In texts that faded by morning.
He knew I liked him.
I'm sure he knew.
But he never said stop.
He never said go.
He just let me stay in the middle
Loving him in silence