I lay in the grass, heart pounding against the ground. I let the fear swallow me: wondering if now he will not hold me-- though somewhere in me a clear calm voice whispers, "that's not what he meant, that can't have been what he meant." I half know it is true, but also half whimper at the thought of even more nights alone, arms wrapped around; around only myself. Cold--outside & in-- as they said once, naming me Ice Queen, unwilling to give away my embrace, not even just a kiss. Somethings are never 'just.' I have always known this too well.