He showed up. Yet again. And this time he became the reality I've been wishing he would be. But I didn't know he would be this frightening. Had I known, I would endured dying without seeing him. Now I'm happy. But scared, and continually guilty. Insecure, too, needless to say.
It's still all so surreal. The first kiss, it was awkward, but sweet. I was quivering when he pulled away. I was consumed with desire days following that. Till I became too foolish enough to go with him and finally bring an end to our longings. I regret everything. I hate myself for giving in. It's not that I didn't want it. I do. In fact I can't have enough of him. But that's the main reason why I simply regret for allowing him to finally have me. Because I know I will never have him, all of him.
Right now I am in the middle of the road. No signposts whatsoever. It's getting dark. I'm scared.
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