Chances are I’ll step out of line, but who knows?

by four-leaf clover

I can’t seem to remember when it began
Was it in the quiet brush of our hands,
the way your fingers lingered just a moment too long?
Or in the way your eyes found mine
and held me there, trembling with something I couldn’t name?

I try to be careful
as I tell myself to stay inside the lines
and not risk what we have.
But desire is not a careful thing.
It whispers, soft at first,
then louder, sharper, dragging me to the cliff,
hanging and almost wanting to risk it all

What if I cross the line?
What if I let this yearning slip free
and it ruins what we’ve built?
And yet the thought of not crossing, of staying contained,
feels like denying the air I breathe,
as if I’m in a prison of my own feelings, wanting to get out

I want to let you know how I feel,
that I want you closer
I want the warmth of your hand in mine
to mean more than just comfort
I want to risk it all for something that might never exist
but also might be everything

I ache with it,
this terrifying, thrilling, impossible desire
that clings to the edges of my soul,
half longing, half fear.
And still, I ask myself
whether it is worth risking the bond we’ve built
for the chance at something more

Something that might burn,
or might bloom,
but I suppose you’ll never know,
as I do not dare not to cross the line
not tonight, not while my fear still wins
So I stay here, wanting, waiting
Maybe… not yet