i wanted to kiss you, you know. i thought about as we were getting off the bus together and i said i’d walk you home; after everything we’d been talking about that night i thought “this is the part where we kiss.” standing under the streetlight on the corner by your house, this is where we kiss. dark, heavy, unavoidable. i felt the inevitability weighing down on me as i offered – happily – to go with you; and so doesn’t that mean i wanted it?
i wonder if i’m not too much of a downer, at times like this. why do you trust me? because i’m your friend? are you sure? are you really sure? say, doesn’t it get annoying, constantly hanging around someone who’s convinced they’ll end up breaking everything they touch?
am i holding your hand because i want to, or because it feels warm?
i thought about kissing you, about asking you to pull back your mask and lower yourself to my level. would it feel good? natural? “right”? it seemed like it should’ve been.
i thought about another time so many years ago when you asked me to kiss you and i couldn’t do it. i only gave you a little peck on the cheek and you blushed all over and i laughed and everything was perfect and the poison had already reached the bloodstream even if you didn’t know, even if i hated to admit to knowing it.
so i just hugged you goodbye and walked home in the dark.