Poetry

Sometimes I wonder if we were in love
when I broke her heart,
as we did not held hands, did not even kiss
although our friendship had a kind of tenderness
 
and I had given her a gift of a silver pen,
while maybe far too slowly
things between us did happen
and in some obscure way she was dear to me
 
and I wonder what kind of betrayal it was
when I did with another girl a relationship start
which brought what was between us to an end
and she wasn’t any longer my friend.
 
If it had been love, maybe it was only starting,
was still an innocent kind of thing,
but how deep her feelings did go
I never really will know.