I don’t know why.
I don’t know why you suddenly stopped seeming to want to talk to me.
Why you stopped inviting me over, or why you stopped coming over to see me, just to chat.
Or why you were coming over in the first place.
Or why you would always buy me drinks, and come find me in clubs.
Or why you would go shopping with me, or walk halfway across town with me on my errands.
Or why, when I was ill, you would come over to make me hot drinks.
Or why you stayed to talk for hours the times I was too drunk to remember what happened – but well enough to just be put to bed.
Or why you will always make jokes about my random hookups but never acknowledge the ones who I had even the tiniest amounts of feelings for.
I’ll never know why you left without answering when she asked you if you liked me.
I guess we really were just friends.