If we weren't so hell bent on getting to heaven, maybe we'd be sleeping now. Hands touching, because that has always felt right, two boats tied together at sea. And maybe if you weren't such a graceful dancer, moving through life to music only you hear - maybe if you hadn't reached out for me to join you, maybe if you hadn't spun me under your arm - maybe then we'd have had a different chance.
There are unspoken rules to the game that we're playing. Prices we aren't willing to pay. So touch me, touch me, touch me - but never too much. Nothing that we can't defend. After all, you always need to be able to say "she's just my best friend."
And when you fall asleep in my bed - fully clothed, there are rules - and sleep through the night like a child. When you whisper things in the dark for just the night and me to hear, when you brush my hair out of my face - All of those moments I'll relive and replay, because there's a piece of me missing when you go north and away.
God rolled the dice when she gave you to me, and she added such an awful twist. From the second I met you, you've been my "almost." You're all of the chances I missed. So you'll stay my best friend, my 6am hot chocolates, my running-around-Cardiff-in-spring. We're rule benders, not breakers, and that's perfectly fine by me.
