,

Platonic Husband

Our friendship was genuine.

It took years of monotony;

consistency.

It wouldn’t have been a safe space,

if there wasn’t that much history.

Proof that he was safe.

He was never going to hurt me.

Always a brother. A dependable, platonic

friend.

Never romantic. Never an attempt.

“He’s too… boring?”

“Boring is good. Boring is stable.”

“Yeah, but… is that love? When

there’s no passion. Isn’t that

friendship?”

Maybe, in a past life, in some

other cultures. We were an

arranged marriage. That was

easy.