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Plant on windowsill

Long ago

It built and built, for years and years,

The coveted thing, held back by fears

Of ruining friendship, of being exposed

Of giving in and then everyone knows.

But one lonely summer, where beginning had sparked

A forbidden act, under stars in the dark

Reckless and steamy, selfish and wrong,

We gave in to the thing that bound us for so long.

Between a rock and hard place, we put ourselves there,

The spark now erased, a new history unfair

The humans in our lives, illuminated by day

What to do now? What would we say?

Nothing at all, it will be our dirty silence

Because telling would only cause wreckage and violence.

And so we kept quiet and got on with our days…

After more years and years, the guilt slightly fades.

But here I am now, still wondering why

I bound myself to this person ’til the day that I die.


Sunday Confessionals

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