I am afraid of saying outloud how it all made me feel. Because, by doing that, I admit it. I admit it to me, to her, to everyone.

I am afraid that if I describe how beautiful she is the picture will fade in my mind.

I am afraid if I say how peaceful it was sitting beside her, holding her hand, it will take on a new meaning.

I am afraid that by admitting how incredibly soft her skin was under mine that I will be giving up more than I had planned.

I am afraid that if I describe how perfectly her breast rested in my hands while a nipple met my tongue, I will be asking for more than I can handle.

I am afraid that if I tell about the bliss she brought to me while framed by my legs, it will make others fearful.

I am afraid that if I exclaim how badly I want to see her again, feel her again, taste her again, smell her again, it will frighten her.

I am afraid.