I liked being around you.
It always felt warm, safe,
because I disregarded the cold metal signifying ‘danger’ that pressed against my face.
We’ve always held guns to each other’s heads,
loaded with memories and secrets that can hurt no one but us.
We knew we could hurt each other,
that is, if we wanted to.
It was always a matter of who would take the first shot.
I knew I could have done it.
I acknowledged that I was able to.
I never wanted to.
Was it ever the same for you?