And when he kisses you,
you will not be surprised.
Although the timing was random,
you knew that he wanted to,
and you knew that he would.
His lips will part from yours,
he will smile,
and he will kiss you again.
It won't be soft like the first one.
You will not stop him.
You want this to mean nothing.
As his tongue traces your lips
you will retrace your thoughts,
wondering just when you will tell him
you don't know how to make love
without being in love,
but there is no love here.
When his hands begin to slide under your shirt,
you will not stop him.
You will begin to wonder if you are a tease.
You will begin to wonder how angry he will be,
you are not asking for ***, are you?
This is just a kiss,
A kiss is not consent.
You will realize your heart is racing.
You won't be able to tell what's moving faster,
him or your thoughts.
His hands will travel to your lower half,
and you will pull back from the kiss.
You will want to say something to his face,
but it's already heading downward.
You will not stop him.
Instead,
you will swallow and find yourself conflicted.
You want this to mean nothing.
As he begins to unbutton the denim,
you will realize your breathing is so sporadic
that you're getting lightheaded.
Your body is not getting excited in the way you want it to.
You want this to mean nothing.

It doesn't.

As his breath ghosts over your lower half,
through the remaining fabric,
you realize you chose the word ghost subconsciously
because you know this moment will haunt you.
And when he goes to pull the fabric away,
you will stop him.
He will be confused; he will be flustered.
He will ask you why,
and you will sit up, pull your pants on,
and tell him that you just can't.
He will be mad.
You will drive home with all the windows down,
you want to the wind to blow you away.
You will shower with cold water,
you want something else to send chills down your spine.
And when you finally lay down,
you will pull your blankets tight around you.
You want your body to regain its warmth,
its own warmth.
You want this to mean something,
it does.
You close your eyes,
and you will tell yourself:
"I make love to myself every day.
I wash my hair, I brush my teeth.
I drink water even though I hate it.
I sing along to songs in the car.
I watch the sky change colors at night.
I draw pictures of animals,
I take pictures of the sun.
I wake up.
God ******, I wake up.
I am my own best friend.
I am here, and I am not alone.
I have me.
This is all I will ever need,
and I mean it."