It’s strange.

I say, I communicate, and all the while being responsible makes my heart pound so, so hard,

my trust in you breaking into shards,

my body rejecting your touch on impulse while my brain struggles to figure out what went wrong under the spell of your siren song and the feel of your mouth in the crook of my neck, neglecting the boundaries my body brought up so

While my chest aches and my confidence breaks, my brain bisects into pro-you and pro-the truth, one side claiming I enjoyed it while the other whispers, “you had to”

I wonder what would have happened if we had been in your room instead of under the stars.

Would you have convinced my core that it needed you while my heart broke into two?

Would I have believed I wanted it because you told me to?

Would I have given myself up to give in, or given you the truth that I couldn’t handle your touch, that it became too much, became a curse instead of a comfort because even as I try to remember how much I used to yearn for your company all I can think of is how I’d hate to know your lust again and be undone by your words—