It was a Thursday night in late December. (I know you try to forget and I never let you.)
You came to me after the world feel asleep. We sipped wine though your breath proved you’d had more. I had visions of showing you my soul, letting you cradle my bare heart in your gentle hands.
I wanted it to be precious…
The beginning of love
But you had greedy fingers and an eager mouth, drowning out the tender and pulling at my clothes. It wasn’t violent, nor was it wrong or unwanted.
It just wasn’t what I needed.
And you knew. You finally realized it but not until you were halfway over the threshold, saying goodbye. It was then that you broke. I saw it. And for the first time all night, it came through-
(albeit mingled with guilt)
It nearly killed me to let you go, just when you had woken up and finally could see me. But it was too late.
And it will always be too late
This post was inspired by this month’s topic- first sighting of love- by The Topic Thingy at being1nsane. Go check out the participation guidelines and join us. You’ll get lots of exposure and discover many talented writers in return! :)