How is it possible to damage someone irrefutably without ever really touching them?
When all you took from them are stolen touches at things they weren't ready to give?
Do you really care about them or was it just a moment of weakness…a simple lapse in judgment?

I wish I knew, even the moments I doubt it would do anything but hurt me,
If there was a reason behind why I look at someone else, ready, waiting, loving,
And want someone who will never return it instead,
I try to convince myself that if someone could tell me, it would all make sense.

The truth is it probably never will,
Not to anyone, much less me,
Why I choose to hold onto moments these people were reluctant to give me,
When I should be moving forward, trying for something bigger and better,
And it has to be out there,
If it isn't then what hope is there for everyone else, much less me.

My struggle is quite unlike the ones I read about in books,
In memoirs and articles they only talk about rape or molestation or beatings so violent they leave marks for all to see,
No one ever mentions a boy they were repeatedly minorly sexually harassed by at 12 or 13,
Or their failure to regain composure on attraction and lust afterwards,
They don't mention the boy who smacked you around with a basketball for a few years before, and then the year after the bad boy disappeared for a little while,
They don't tell you what to do when bad boy holds you earnestly while you cried.

Years later you know what you should feel in your last days of certifiable adolescence,
You know the way he looks at you is the way the other two should have,
You know it should make you feel a little more than it does,
You know when he speaks to you that you should kiss him,
What you don't know if you missed the moment with a purpose or not.

Yet you can still find a way to be mad at him,
When he moves on after months of neglect,
He should have known even though you had the chance to tell him and deflected it,
But he doesn't,
You try to let it sink,
It doesn't,
The only thing sinking at this rate is your heart.