we always had this sense of maps
being laid out when we touched each other.
as if there were certain lines we could not cross,
would not cross,
did not dare to cross.
but they were always being redrawn,
as if our ideas of right and wrong
were constantly changing.
one night it would be alright to touch you there,
say this, do that.
the next night it might be completely different.
there were all these ways to fuck up,
thresholds and barriers preventing us
from getting too close.
but in the end we crossed all of them
and laid ourselves bare.
i think we found that after everything,
there was no map
that did not have our destination
written upon it.
it may have been written in Braille,
or invisible ink,
or in font too small for the naked eye,
but it was there all the same.
and it was with a sense of wonder
that we arrived at that destination,
and began to realize
that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives there.