It was when we were lying on the couch quietly reading together, my legs sprawled across his lap, his fingers absentmindedly skimming my pant leg that I decided I would let myself fall for him. Never mind the outcome, never mind if he ever returned the feelings, never mind how fragile I can be and how much it hurts when things end. I wanted to feel whatever I felt without shutting it down prematurely.
He walked me to the metro, 4 blocks away, my bag in his one hand and his other entwined around my own and swinging gently, laughter enveloping us in a cozy cocoon. But when we got to the station, he didn't kiss me. We hugged shyly and I got on the train and headed east.
It's been 3 months. We haven't had the "let's just see each other" talk and maybe we never will.
We had some friction the night before, but he's not the rough type and it passed in a way that left me still feeling warm afterwards. I hugged him as he washed dishes at the sink, quietly grateful for this difference.
I thought I know how this will end. I will become attached and then restless because you are not. Maybe your heart will always remain with the girl who cannot love you back and I am just helping you pass the time. So maybe this won't be love. But I will cook for you and you will make room for me and we can shelter in a pocket of togetherness until the cold passes.