Her Arms Instead

I picture a boy with dark hoodie and black jeans.
With a sad smile, He closes His eyes and lets His mind rewind. 
Memories  start to flash like a freeze frame movie.
He remembers a time when the roses didn't prick His skin and the girl who He loved kissed His lips. 
And for some reason, like a scratched CD, the music of His lullaby past, skipped His dreams.
The roses fell in slow motion to the ground and the girl threw his love around. 
Eventually after that one innocent night together, something happened and it was not for the better.
Tears rolling streams upon His face, He wiped them away.
But still, to this very day, He remembers the way she kissed down his back.
The way their eyes clicked and how their hands locked and never detached.
He still remembers the way their mouths met.
And now months down the road, He still looks back, wanting her touch and feeling like a wrecked soul.
If only He knew, even though we just met, how much I just want to hold Him close and tell Him life gets better in the end.
But, even if He did give me the chance, I bet He would wish, it was her arms instead.