Time Travel

I want to

redo my

first kiss.

You know, when you decided to 

write our

epilougue, I defended your 

freedom of the 

press. 

Even as I had been

removed from your

story, I protected

you;  

I rioted with tales of your

loyalty and speeches on your

thoughtfulness; when asked what I 

hated about you, the answer was

nothing.  

I held back critics even as I was

held back from

you.

It seems i was mistaken  in

safeguarding your

name.

Somehow, during our

scene, it slipped over my

head that your

enchantment with her 

thighs when I wasn´t 

there and your

behind-her-back behind bemusement while I was

sitting in your arms were not

reflections of me being your

¨one and only¨;

I couldn´t hear the ¨I don´t really love you¨ behind the

¨if you really loved me¨´s,

I couldn´t feel the

emptiness where there should have been the 

genuine, the

gentle, when you would 

grab my head and 

force my lips on 

yours;

it´s taken me over a 

year to realize that

maybe 

that was all wrong.

I used to say that I didn´t

regret anything with

you. 

That you taught me how to 

love, that I 

appreciate everything I 

learned, but that was before I

learned we were never

love, that was before I was

tainted with

defending the person who took all I had to give and 

shattered it

twice.

I´ve never felt

dirtier than knowing you 

held me; I think of your

touch, and I swear, I could

peel my own skin away to the

bone 

if give the chance;

trying to forget you was

hard enough, the

armoire moved so I couldn´t remember the

smell of those 4-in-the-morning

wake ups from dreams about never having 

lost you, 

so I couldn´t remember the way sunlight

burned 

because it meant I was 

alone if I wasn´t

asleep,

so I wouldn´t wait by my

phone just in case it would light up with your

name;

but now, knowing you never felt the 

same, knowing you never

struggled, knowing what I had faith in was a 

fake prophet,

that corner where my 

bed used to lay 

reeks again, 

the stench of 

buried memories unearthed 

again, and I want nothing more than to 

undo it 

all.

So, when I say I want to

redo my first kiss, 

I don´t mean I wish it had been 

more romantic or

felt nice, I mean I wish it hadn´t been 

you.

I regret ever letting your

lips on

mine, 

because now I know I´ve never had a 

taste of truth;

I wanted something 

real, 

but found out a year later that our 

reality was a 

fallacy, I can´t differentiate between the

propaganda and the

prophets.

I want to redo my

first kiss because 

I want to learn my heart in a way that it

won´t end up

broken,

because I don´t want to have to 

forget it all, but

your best lesson was

dementia, 

I don´t know anything except for what I 

wish I couldn´t 

remember, I think

now, it´s 

safe to say, 

I haven´t had my

first kiss.