I probably should have kissed you, then at least I would’ve known… But I didn’t, so now I’ll always wonder.
But, then again, maybe what I did was the right thing, maybe I shouldn’t have kissed you, maybe it was best for both of us.
There’s a difference between who we love, who we settle for, and who we are meant to be with… but at our age, that’s not really important. The funny thing, is that I could have kissed you, and you would have kissed me back…
… But then you would have asked me to spend the night, and I don’t know if I would have had the strength to say no, even though that’s not what I wanted. Everyone our age is afraid of love, but not me. I can admit that I don’t want to love you for a night, and that the kind of love I could offer you couldn’t even begin to be contained in a single night. My love could carry you, sweep you, fill you, lift you, warm you… and I refuse to be ashamed of that. My love isn’t greedy, needy, or jealous. It would treasure our time together, as well as our time apart, and we would both be content in that. I can see the suspicion in your eyes… love is too binding, you say. I just want to have fun, you say.
So picture this… you see your friend over there? He’ll probably take that girl home with him. They’ll stumble back to the dorm in a drunken haze, clutching at each others’ warmth for comfort, but confused by the strangeness of the feel of their intertwined hands. They will have sex with the lights off because they are scared to reveal their flaws to each other, and in the morning someone will sneak out quietly to avoid the awkwardness.
You and I will make our way back home, bathed in certainty and comfort from the nearness of each other, and while their night is tainted by insecurities which cause her to fake her orgasm, I will caress your face, you will look into my eyes, we will love the way our bodies fit together, and we will carry each other into a blissful oblivion. In the morning, I will make you cinnamon french toast and you will spend the afternoon alternating between teaching me how to play Call of Duty and worrying that if I get too good, I might actually beat you.
Don’t tell me you wouldn’t love that, because we both know you would. They will all be empty, and we will be free.
We could love each other without actually being in love, and I promise that I would be really, really good at loving you. But if you’re not ready for that, then I think what I did was the right thing. A part of me knows that I should have kissed you, just to see if you could be ready, but you and I both know you’re not.
So please, don’t look at me with those eyes, don’t watch my mouth move when I talk, don’t reach for me whenever we’re near each other, and don’t hold me like I’m the only thing that matters in the world. You’re not ready for all that I have to give, so I’m not going to kiss you.