i don’t even want this feeling
to pass from the safety of myself.
i would rather just
look at you and let a crush
crush me completely
than have to realize it
like i did before.
i would rather be crushed by possibility than
its death.
i would rather live in limbo than in
definitive
disappointment.
cause if i’ve learned anything in these
eighteen years
it’s that you’re kinder
when you tear yourself apart
softer
than a stranger who desecrates even the parts
you would leave intact.
i would rather look at you and think how
nice it might be to touch you, break the boundaries of social
propriety,
but leave it just an empty, unfulfilled
possibility. because i don’t want to touch, i don’t want
that tender, tender brushing of fingertips,
i want a **** to forget and a friend
to remember
and caring isn’t on the agenda.
so please just let me look at you
let me crush myself
before you
ever get the chance
to.