I know why we met.
I know the reason for the pain it caused.
You did nothing at all. And therein lies the sin.
One heart looks up and another looks down.
Who knows the reason?
Where is the brush that paints our soul?
It paints mine black and blue!
You put your hand on my cheek,
and I mistook it for affection.
I'm always doing things like that.
It wasn't a slap, but it still left a mark.
"Don't ever forget!" you'd said to me,
and through a simple act of kindness, cut.
"And don't ever regret it," I say to you now!
For our unfruitful encounter was not in vain.
It was a sharp tool tucked away
to remind myself how to hurt
when nothing else could do the trick.
And that is why we met,
though it took a long time for me to find the reason.
Did it hurt you when you had to hurt me to be gentle?
If it did, I never meant to hurt you — not even that much!