The water was cool on that day.
The day I decided my feelings for you.
I had taken you to a place that was foreign to your eyes.
It was perfect.
You loved adventure and I loved spending time with you.
I took you to my sacred place by the water.
There was a waterfall there.
We sat against the wall and let our muscles relax as the water gently rushed past us.
I couldn’t help but stare.
You looked so at peace, so strong, yet so soft.
The way you spoke reminded me of a violin.
Both masculine and strong, but at the same time beautiful.
I wanted to touch you, to reach out and hold your cheek in my hand, but I refrained.
I think I always knew that you weren’t ready for what I had to offer.
I was prepared to give you the world and you became afraid.
Of what?
I don’t know.
I wish I could go back to that day and do it differently.
Maybe if things weren’t so perfect in that moment, things would be different now.
Maybe if I didn’t let my love-like symptoms get the best of me, I wouldn’t be in as much pain.
The water was cool on that day.
The day I knew that you would never love me as I wanted you to.