it was late.
the kind of night that doesn't ask questions.
music somewhere in the next room.
her knees pressed lightly against mine.
i don't remember who moved first.
just that it felt like holding a flame too gently.
her mouth tasted like laughter and something borrowed.
her hands were already somewhere i'd never been brave enough to ask for.
it didn't last.
not really.
but the silence after felt like a held breath we'd never let go of.
she smiled, but not at me.
and i looked away before it turned into something we'd have to name.
we didn't talk about it.
just floated back into our lives.
laughing too loud to sound natural.
but i remember.
her softness.
her certainty.
the way i wanted to believe i hadn't done anything wrong.
she was real.
and so was i.
just not the way i thought.
YOU ARE READING
I WAS THERE, I THINK
Poetry─── if you're afraid to write it, that's a good sign. i suppose you know you're writing the truth when you're terrified. ( poems, rhymes, truths )
