Dear John

When you first kissed me,

I was two steps behind

my sloppy circle dance routine,

as usual.

You were two steps ahead

and I couldn’t trust my vision to cover the distance

of those five steps separating us.

So I willed my leg to stretch

as far as my skin would allow

in attempt to lunge myself closer to you,

but I was too awkward and weak.

I leaned too far forward

and landed on my chin.

When I rolled over, laid flat on my back,

I could see you more clearly.

Your figure was no longer distorted by distance,

but it was now limited to a single viewpoint:

you standing tall above me.

--

The second time you kissed me,

you flat out told me

you felt you were taking advantage.

I was too much of too many things,

which made the validity of my consent

questionable.

I was drawn to this candor of yours,

the trait you felt burdened by.

Few people are so fearlessly honest

and even fewer enjoy being on the receiving end.

People like their sugar-coated replies.

But my New Year’s resolution

was to be more straightforward

and I found your brutally frank approach attractive.

I know I can be easily influenced,

but I negated your concern

because I didn’t feel

like you were taking advantage of me.

I trusted you.

I have a habit of pouring trust

into all that touch my soul

before they’ve even had

the opportunity to earn it.

--

The fourth time we kissed

you told me you didn’t love me.

The idea had never crossed my mind,

I never expected you  to love me,

but acknowledging an absence

of love hurts.

--

The eight time we kissed,

you told me you had a superior sense of smell.

You can smell women on your brother

and when he’s drinking

from across the hall.

You worry about him.

I wonder why you could never

smell the vomit on my hands.

When your brother came home

you threw the sheets over my head,

you told me to stay quiet and still.

I’ve always hated having

my head under the covers,

it feels like I’m suffocating.

--

The first time I slept beside you,

I awoke with a dark and heavy soul;

a slick, black stone.

I’d always dreamed of sleeping

next to a boy

who treated me with tenderness,

who made me feel sweet and soft and sound.

You were not that boy.

You put a stone in my soul.

--

The last time we kissed

you reminded me

that I wasn’t your girlfriend

and you were fine

with things staying that way.

I realized that I was fine

with us being nothing.

That is when I rose back onto my feet

and stood before you,

my vision no longer distorted,

neither by distance nor perspective.

I now see you as you are.

I will always have a fondness for you,

but now the spell is broken;

I am unenchanted.