His voice is unheard in commotion, to people passing in a hurry.
Soft and low. I swing through a limbo of clustered feelings that I know would scare him off if he could hear my thoughts.
When he tells me about you, my heart sinks. But the corners of my mouth still lift into a smile, for I can no longer delude myself or take his words for more than what they are meant when he loves a boy.
Though he can not meet your gaze, I see him glance at you across the rim of his glasses after you look away; pink-cheeked.
I smile because your fingers pluck his heart-strings and make them sing.

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