Afraid of the Light, Afraid of Myself

He looked at me like I was a secret, hushed words that intrigued him.
He saw a girl in front of him and admired her and sensed an adventure into maturity, not love. What he saw after one summer was himself. She shone brightly into his eyes and he realized that he had never needed a light in the first place, it just seemed a little dark without her around. But she grew brighter, her touch one of fire, soon he couldn't speak to her without getting hurt, but

I'll stop there.
I've wanted to write this poem for awhile, open my heart and metaphorically transcribe the writing on its walls, but a metaphor turned into a story and the story turned into a sad one. I haven't written anything in awhile; the light may have gone out.