I don’t want to fall in love with you.
I’ve been up for an hour. My head is on your chest; my lips are on your body. Your arms are wrapped around me, your face buried in my hair. For the moment, you are mine, and every inch of me wants us to stay like this forever. Entangled in each other; corners meeting, skin kissing. But I let go first. I raise my head and trace little swirls on your clavicle with my fingertips. I want you to wake up so I can leave you. I want to leave you. Your eyes open with a smile. You kiss me on the lips and hold me closer. You take a deep breath and close your eyes again. I wish I could stay with you. I kiss your earlobe, but pull away to the edge of the bed, willing myself to get up. You find my hand and interlock your fingers in between my fingers. I let you. And you fold your body into mine, breathing softly into my neck. Maybe I can stay with you a little longer. I close my eyes and let my thoughts go. I ignore all the reasons to why I can’t have you, why I shouldn’t want you, and why I’d never let you have me. It doesn’t take much effort to forget your flaws. Or mine. Not when we’re like this. Not when you’re like this.
But your breath hitches and it snaps me back to reality. I’m in bed with a man who isn’t mine to keep. I pull my hand away from yours, drawing it close to my chest; protecting myself. I know you can sense my restlessness. You kiss the top of my head twice and hold me tighter. You never open your eyes. I close my eyes too. I know I can’t stay. But I don’t want to go. Maybe I’ll leave you tomorrow. Maybe you’ll leave me tomorrow.
Tonight, I’m yours. But I can’t fall in love with you.
