I wasn’t done.
I wasn’t done making love to you, I wasn’t done feeling you hold me, I wasn’t done holding your hand and touching your thigh while sitting close at a bar. I wasn’t done kissing you. I absolutely wasn’t done kissing you. I wasn’t done sitting across from you staring into your eyes, taking in your beautiful face, watching you stretch your hand across the table smiling while reaching for mine. I wasn’t done facing you full on, squarely, entirely open, unflinching.
I wasn’t done but you were.
We were always on borrowed time. Vulnerability’s hard, polyamory's harder.