bees that flit to flowersI never knew I could be intriguing enoughto invoke a conversation that started outinnocent, naïve, and ended in disaster.I never knew I could be aware of holding onto something bound to wreck, without stoppingfor the fear someone would get hurt.I never knew I could be so selfish for hoping, andat the same time not participate, cooperate:filling a budding trust with distrust, like ash's dust,like an engineer that resolutely wrecks a train,like a flower that, over time, blooms thorns.I never knew I was capable of this kind of betrayal,this conduct of misuse, this particular hurt that only slowlyebbs away; I never