I could pretend that your touch sent passion chills up my arms, rummaged down my spin and made me shiver with love. But, would it be a sin? To keep you hanging on a line letting you gasp for a living breathing something that I honestly can not give you.
I'm selfish, I know. Afraid, I won't find another you to tell how much you love me unquestionable. Still I live knowing it is wrong, breathing in guilt and exhaling lies.
The white painted swing hangs off the side of the long shrunken porch. Climbing to sit on it felt like it took a good fifty years off my life. His big hand pats the space beside him motioning me to sit and the thick muscle arm lifts for me to crawl under.
I could keep pretending. Letting you hang on a clear line, gasping for something you don't even know you need. And then everything just might be fine, right?