Lunch

You get invited to lunch.
With... A couple.
A fresh one, the love like fairy's brew.
The girl is your friend
And you can't help grinning
At the pure, sweet romance fluttering in front of you
Every action and glance
"Aww"

Then it strikes you that you are totally out of place,
That you have no idea how to use a fork and your mouth,
That when the guy compliments the girl and she gushes,
You stare at a bird on the roof,
Willing it to swoop down and carry you home.
People rarely blush nowadays
You probably didn't but you felt your face burn up.

"Awkward" doesn't begin to explain what you feel
Like a lightbulb, you light up at their cute ways
Like a lightbulb, you try to delicately balance the switch between 'on' and 'off'
Like a lightbulb, you have absolutely, absolutely no idea what to do.

The rice snickers and jeers at you.
"What, looking at intimacy makes you embarrassed? Grow up!"
Yeah, yeah.

And so you silently congratulate,
Glad for the absence of unrequited love,
Glad for your friend's happiness.
Glad that you are single because now you finally are equipped with the knowledge of how couples actually look like to outsiders.

You stifle a smirk at your silent joke, one of many you crack daily to amuse yourself.
You smirk again at how weird this sounds.
And then again at how weird it sounds to say how weird it sounds.
And then you--

Then realize, that this awkward cuteness has made your day.
.
.
.
And probably gave you diabetes while at it.