What he knew.

Who was He to Her?

Who was She to Him?

He'd tell you now that she was just a friend.

Just someone he knew.

Just another person who'd been subconsciously absorbed into his passive life.

He'd use these as cover.

He'd shrink and attempt conversational suicide.

Change the subject.

Submit vague responses.

The truth is he infact had an arsenal of emotions, thoughts regarding Her.

She was a lot of things to Him.

She was a friend.

She was a love interest.

She was an artist.

She was a musician.

She was a comedian.

She was a model.

She was a scientist.

She was a flirt.

She was a sweetheart.

She was love lost.

She was heart break.

She was insomnia.

She was stomach aches.

She was lost appetite.

She was forbidden.

She was perfect.

She was imperfect.

He could've gone on,

But he knew it didn't matter.

He had not been oblivious to Her newly budding signs.

Being ignored.

Being ignored.

Being ignored.

The neglect was pungent enough for others to see His increasingly eroded heart.

But He didn't separate from his poison hastily.

Love is suffering, right?

He must've thought so.

He knew he was not perfect.

He wanted to know.

He wanted answers.

Did She love Him?

Why did She forget Him?

Did He hurt Her?

Why does His heart crumble when He wonders about Her?

Did Her mind ever encounter a reflection of Him?

Is He just that hopeless?

Is He unlovable?

Is She happy?

What is He to Her?

Is He worth anything?

Was it all just a performance?

He possess a whole catalog of inquiries.

He thought these things in vain.

She had affectively removed Herself from His plane.

He was dealing with the death of Her apparent interest in Himself.

Only a few miles ever kept Him from being with Her, but the distance in His heart was galactic in size.

What was He to Her?