i don't give second chances.

if you hurt me, over any
tiny, insignificant thing,
then i will push you away.

and even if, someday, i let you back in,
it will never be the same
because as a rule, second chances
do not change
a person whose character is
flat.

however,
the day i met you,
something changed.

i let you rip my heart
into bloodied shreds;
i watched as it fluttered down
and landed in a pile
that included my dignity,
my sanity,
and what was left of
my innocence.

i watched, completely detached
yet insanely aware of
how you could look at me
and of how i would do
anything - no,
everything
to make things okay for you.

i would move earth,
crash my car into a wall,
even sew my lips shut; i'd do
all of it
without  complaint,
especially if i knew you'd grant me one
second,
minute,
hour
of the attention i craved.

so it was no surprise,
that each time i declared
to be done or
pushed you away,
that you could always
find your way
back in.
there was always some kind of
charm, lurking
in those crystalline eyes
and tucked into your laugh.
there was always,
always - no matter how much
i changed, or moved forward -
some part of myself that i
left with you;
some part of myself that -
while i don't even want it -
i will never get back.

so it is no surprise
that you smile at me on a friday,
or that it is so painfully familiar,
or even that it strikes me down
as hard as the first blow
Cupid aimed towards my heart.
no, the surprise lies in the sharp ache,
the realization that part of you and i
are still lodged in our past;
we are still just kids,
still best friends.
there is still a part of me
that wishes to rewind time
and return to the golden era
of us.

there is still a part of myself
that would give you your twentieth
second chance
if all you did was
laugh.