Which is worse?
The permanent wonderment
With what could've unfolded
Or the brokenness of what was
For a flash of an instant?

I wanted those lanky limbs of yours
Wrapped around my heart
And they almost were-
In the silence you cupped my face
With solemnity and questions in your dark eyes
I almost let that inquisition tip of over
Unto my lips
Before reason washed over,
Calming my goosebumps
Pushing away the rashness of our meeting
With hesitancy, your answer eased its way out-
"Not yet."

Not ever, so it seems.
Because the third grade boy, left on the playground
Only grew taller.
Not braver.
He still can't leap
Without the fear of falling,
Controlling.

But dear little boy,
Not all falling
Hurts.
And sometimes
It's worth
The pain.