The first time, in the hotel, your skin still smelled of chlorine. We wouldn’t let ourselves kiss. I couldn’t breathe all day.
The next time, in the guest room, you had to go and dare me. We slept exactly one hour at the bottom of the stairs.
The third time, in our friend’s bed, while she slept or showered. As quiet as we could be. I’m not as quick as you.
The last time is the last time. I don’t waste time on hoping. I don’t care what we promise. I just care what comes true.
