He asked if he could kiss me,
and I told him no when I realized
it wouldn't be his face I saw
when I closed my eyes,
when I realized it would mean
hours of remembering, keeping me up
till morning light,
recounting the good times,
what I had, and what I lost.
When he asked if he could kiss me,
I somehow knew he wouldn't be able
to rekindle the fire in my eyes
I somehow knew he couldn't fix
what had been broken inside.
So when he asked if he could kiss me,
I turned away and told myself
that I couldn't be put in
the position to be hurt again,
couldn't experience love again
until the longing died.
Being needed, I'd decided, would
only make things worse.
So when he offered me his heart
to hold, I handed it back to him,
and told him not to be so trusting.