A snagged branch I was when you brush your shoulder against me. Chills and goosebumps, you rewind to when I caught you by the edge of your torn up plain white tee. I wrestle with the wind, for the breeze seems not to hit me. It leads me to the tree. Your forbidden fruit for me to only see, not touch. I’m at my wits end with your trust. Yet, it is a must that I can breathe without the touch of a man. Who would’ve have thought it’d be you to let go of my hand?