We kissed.
Finally.
It was beautiful.
Or maybe I needed it to be.

He was beautiful.
The kiss, the moment—
all shimmering illusions,
glittering like broken glass in the dark.
But what made it truly intoxicating
was the haze we let consume us.
We were so full. So empty.

Full of poison—
a quiet fire that softened the edges
of truths too sharp to face.
It dulled our fears,
convinced us that what we felt
was something real,
something tangible,
something we could hold onto.

But was it real?
Did I kiss him,
or did I kiss the lie we shared?
The lie that let us drown
in a closeness that wasn’t really there.
We didn’t see each other.
Not truly.
We stared through the haze,
two lost souls brushing fingertips
but never daring to grasp.

And when the haze faded,
when the silence settled like dust in the room,
the glances spoke—
soft, trembling, unsure.
Eyes that lingered just long enough
to ask a question,
but not brave enough
to search for the answer.

The air grew colder.
The warmth of his hands—
a memory already smoldering,
ash falling between us.

I saw him.
A man drowning in himself,
a heart hidden behind walls too high to climb.
And me?
I am no better.
I hide, too—
my fear tucked between words unspoken,
a dam holding back a river of feelings
I am too afraid to release.

We don’t know who we are.
We don’t know what we want.
But we feel it.
It hums beneath our silence,
an ache we cannot name.
A closeness we taste
but refuse to swallow,
a truth we bury
because we fear what it might mean.

Maybe you are my poison.
Maybe I am yours.
We drink each other slowly,
a bitter medicine for wounds
we don’t know how to heal.
It’s easier this way.
Easier to let the haze lie for us.
Easier to let a kiss pretend
it’s enough.

And when the night ends—
when the haze is gone
and the morning cuts through the dark—
what’s left?

We kissed.
It was beautiful.
But beauty fades.
And when I look at you,
I wonder:

What could we have been,
if we weren’t so afraid to feel?