Am I a masochist, resisting urges to punch you in the teeth, call you a bitch and leave? Why did I come here? To sit and watch you stare at your feet? What was the plan? Absolve your guilt and shake hands? I feel no need to forgive, but I might as well. But let me kiss your lips, so I know how it felt. Pay for my coffee and leave before the sun goes down. Walk for hours in the dark, feeling all hell.