She wishes she never kissed him when the sun was
setting and the river was flowing in the distance. She
wishes she never kissed him back two more times 
when he asked again. What was the point of the first
kiss when it turned into the second and third? She 
wishes the moment could have stayed magical. It was,
until it wasn’t. It was a fairytale. It was the perfect
chronicle of undying love, until it wasn’t. Until the kisses
warped into constant arguments againist her dreams.
She wishes she never kissed him. She wishes she 
never decided to hear him out when the equation
of their love became his money minus her future
multiplied by outside expectations. What was the
point of loving him if it meant losing her ambitions?