Page 73 of I Wish I Would've Warned You

I can’t.

Can’t or won’t?

Both.

Sighing, I crack open a beer and tear open the flap.

There’s no “Dear Cole” or a letter.

It’s one of her poems…

You gave me a warning the night that we met?—

A look full of fire and quiet regret.

I should’ve known it was doomed from the start?—

Two borrowed names, one reckless heart.

Strangers then, now bound by blood,

A flame that flickered through the flood.

We had no shelter, no place to stand?—

Just trembling hope and trembling hands.

The spotlight’s rising—it cuts like a knife.

And I’m so close to reclaiming my life.

We’d need new ways just to hide our truth,

But why keep chasing a stolen youth?

I want a love that can stand in the light,

Not something buried, blurred by night.

And truthfully, we barely began?—

Just heat and ache and a fragile plan.

I won’t betray the one who bore me,

Even if she no longer knows me.

She’s all I have—and I’m her spine.

Some debts are paid in blood, not time.

So I’m asking you—please let me go,

As I let go of what we’ll never know.

If it was real, then let it rest.

If not, then wish me all the best.

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