His face swims into focus again

upon the black of my closed eyelids,

along with his laughter,

ringing in ears

that should hear naught

but the silence of my room.

I smile,

yet the thoughts are swiftly chased away

by the fear of past mistakes

and reluctance to repeat them.

I have no desire

to be that girl again,

hopeless,

pathetic,

drowning in a love

that could never be returned,

forever a tragic figure,

a lone tear falling from pure blue eyes

and running down a pale cheek.

Nay, my friend,

my love is as love

that one has for a brother,

for kin,

for flesh,

for blood,

and nothing more.

This I tell myself again,

that I've said one hundred times before

and will say again one hundred more

until I believe it.