I know she knew—
the scent of my hair
still lingering in her sheets,
glass bottles rattling in the trash,
clattering out confessions
I’d sworn to keep.

Motorcycle cruises down county roads,
Kodak moments flashing suspicion.
Summer heat zipped into nylon nights—
did she never wonder
if it was truly right
to leave me with him
at that campsite?

Words were spoken.
Boundaries shattered.
Hands crossed dangerous lines of lust—
blind faith,
or convenient trust.
And still,
my skin remembers the touch.

Her feigned ignorance
became an easy refuge,
a bliss she chose over truth.
But it came at a cost—
a weight I should never have carried.

Youthful innocence cannot be given twice.
My quiet suffering paid the price.