fhqwhgads

This isn't a poem, it's not a short story... I'm not sure what the hell it is, other than one big metaphor....

She invited me into the house with a smile. I was made to feel comfortable...like I belonged. Sure, I was acting like a guest at first, but after awhile I started to let some of the formalities abide... One day I put my feet up on the coffee table, out of habit. I quickly realized what I had done and put my feet down. She just smiled... she said it was cute the way that I felt comfortable enough to do that. She made me some cookies from scratch, which I ate gladly. I apologized for having eaten all of her cooking, but she just smiled. She told me not to be sorry, that it made her feel good to have someone to cook for. Soon after I began to compliment her on her hair... she recently had it fixed in a new way. I must have commented on it five or six times that afternoon, I was so enamored with it. I apologized to her for being so fixed on it. She just smiled, and told me that it was nice to have someone look at her in that way. She told me that she appreciated the attention.
We would have these little visits several times a week for quilte awhile, but after awhile, I didn't see her as much. I asked her about it one day, and she invited me over. She explained that the small things in life had just taken over, and that she had gotten wrapped up in things. I believed her, until I put my feet on the table again. This time, she didn't smile. She didn't care much for me eating the plate of cookies either... I complimented her on her new dress, and she told me that she didn't think it was healthy for someone to be so "wrapped up" in another individual... I didn't understand what I had done... the things that she found so cute and flattering at the begining of our visits had now become burdens to her. I began to ask her why, but I soon realized that she didn't much care to talk about it. I quitely stood, and left.

I haven't been invited over since.