What passed between us belonged to the night, and that is where I left it. Twice we collided, and I felt privileged for what was offered, though at the last I could not accept. And there it stayed. All I really know of you is your privacy. So I afforded you what respect I could, and invaded no further.
But I still wonder: what, exactly did that touch in the dark mean to you? Desire, clear enough. Affection? I would hope. Intimacy? Unlikely. Vulnerability? That one I fear. I know nothing of how to avoid wounding you. And behind your privacy, I sense you have been wounded enough. Better you felt nothing beyond lust. Better I found myself in some cookie-cutter role, the nearest warm body of acceptable shape. Everyone has needs beyond the flesh. I hope those were not what drove you to me. Because if so I failed you. If so, my respectful distance may be exactly what you were trying to bridge. Such a thing as I might do, when intoxicated by loneliness, reaching out for someone to feel close to. But you are not me, and I know nothing beyond that.
Confusion aside, only two things are important.
I hope you weren’t hurt.
I remain your friend.