Before We Ever Touched

Letters from the Past.

You wanted to be near me
before you ever knew me.

You said you wanted to see me,
feel me,
understand what was hurting me—
as if you could take it away.

You called me a mystery.

But you were the one
already splitting your life in two.

You asked if I was afraid.

Afraid of you.
Afraid of myself.
Afraid of what might happen.

You should have asked yourself.

Because even then—
you were already hiding.

Closing screens.
Watching over your shoulder.
Erasing me
before I even existed in your world.

You said you didn’t want me to be a secret.

And still—
you built the secret
around me.
You said everything you did
was for them.

But what you felt for me—
that was yours.

And it scared you.

And still—
you kept coming closer.

You said you had to be careful.
You said you had to take it slow.
You said you didn’t know
where this was going.

But your words
were already ahead of you.

You wanted me now.

My skin.
My presence.
My nearness.

And I felt it.

Every word pulling me in—
while something else
was pulling you back.

You said once you met me
there would be no turning back.

You were right.

Because that was the moment
it started breaking—
before it even began.

Desire on one side.
Fear on the other.

And me—
standing in the middle
believing it was real.