I'm trying to not forget you,
but I can't remember the things we talked about.
I can't recall what we watched or listened to on those late nights.
I don't remember how your hands felt through my hair,
and I don't remember what your skin felt like against mine.

All I remember is how you loved me,
how you often said it.
I never said it back.
Why?
    

I was afraid.
Afraid of what could happen to us,
afraid of my parents,
afraid of loving you.

I loved you.
I loved you with my everything.
I had another,
but I wanted you.

I craved you more than a druggie craved a needle poking into their arm.
I craved you more than a cutter craved their blade.

I remember thinking I couldn't kiss you.
        --I couldn't take advantage of you the way your step-brother did.
But, oh,
how I wanted to grab you and throw you up against the wall and share my breath with you.

Honestly,
I wanted your love.
I had it,
and you had mine.
        --You just didn't know it.

You will always have my heart.
I am no longer afraid.
I'm just a little bit late.