Blue eyes lock with green then dismiss.
From his lips spill words of poetry, a pleading interlaced with the loveliest imagery.
"Do not." he half whispers, half screams, I lock my eyes shut but I can still feel him breathing.
"What do you want me to do?" It's not a rhetorical question and I know it. He tilts my chin up so I can not escape his face. Answers sprint through my mind, my lips open with sentences I want to say but. do not. "Go home." I utter finally and I can see the resolution crack and fall apart behind his eyes.
My head drops with the weight of what I've done, a million compacted moments rise to my mind. I push them back down.
He's waiting for me to change my mind, waiting for me to ask him to beg me to stay - a part of me wants to. The overruling hemisphere of my mind begs to differ though; the little voice inside my head that can not be silenced tells me not to lead him on anymore.
I shudder under the weight of my indecisiveness; he misinterprets it and presses my head against his chest. Through the thin fabric of his shirt I can feel his heart pound a jagged rhythm. A rhythm that was written for me, I try to compute that this will be the last time I hear it. Or at least for a while.
"I'll miss you.". He says, pressing his lips to my ear and letting slip the words that my head had been screaming since this conversation started. Doubts of mine surface, the overarching question of what is right emerges ... we are so alike. I push them all back down, scrape them against the sides of my mind and begin to already live in my decision.
I will not go back. My mind will not shift. This cycle will end here. This can not happen again ... I will not let it happen again.
We fall apart, car lights speed behind him and off in the distance an alarm is going off. If I follow all the signs then this would not be happening. For once I'm being reasonable - I do not know if the change is good.
I watch him go, wait for him to turn around and see that I'm still here. I do not know what I'm expecting. He does not see me and slowly the ghost I had left inside him etches itself into the concrete. I take the first step into my decision hoping that it's true what they say - that the first step is the hardest. But I begin to doubt it more with each one.
