I fell in love with Vic in June,
one sunny Dulwich afternoon.
I revelled in her company.
She didn’t fall in love with me.

It’s foolish, but it feels right
that I should keep my torch alight;
my heart demands that I defer
to love, and for the love of her
who wants me only as a friend,
I’ll simply let myself pretend
that one day, maybe, she might wake 
and recognise a telling ache.
I know she won’t, I know she rates
her instinct as one might the fates.

She trusts in what she feels, so
I really ought to let it go.
I will, in time, but hope contends
that sometimes lovers start as friends.