By David, United KingdomThey're in the bar, talking about old times;
He tries to work out if she's playing games.
She says, "We always got along so well."
He wants to be quite sure, but he can't tell.
They chat about whatever's happened since;
He can't decide if she is dropping hints.
At closing time, "It's not far to my flat."
He thinks there's some significance in that.
He sits down, she pours coffee into cups
And once again he thinks that just perhaps...
They talk about her books and her CD's,
He tries to make himself feel more at ease.
They've sat there for an hour and a half;
He tells himself, "At least I make her laugh."
The conversation flags, the night wears on,
He knows the perfect time has come and gone.
He thinks about the move he'll never make
Because they're friends, there's much too much at stake.
She sees him out. He hasn't quite perceived
If she is disappointed or relieved.
He tells himself, "We're friends. That's good enough,"
But all the same he thinks, I wonder if -