You

II

He never thought he would cry for her. Who was she anyway to him? Just the space he'd never noticed between his arm, just the trembling of his fingers. She was just the blonde hair that would catch under his shoulder as he turned over in his sleep. What about her was there to cry for? She was just another voice that had called out to him, other fingers that had touched him, there had been others. But when she touched him, she left heat wherever they made contact. He had never known such heat, like hot asphalt, like he was in the middle of the desert and her tongue was a sweet tasting oasis. She was the feeling of being dizzy and tipsy on white wine in the afternoon under the sun.

He had wanted to say I love you but what was there to love? She was something so complicated, too complicated. She was too much, she felt too much, she made him feel too much. She was a heart too open and made him feel ashamed of what a closed heart he was. There was nothing to love about her, she was only a headache like the ones he would feel coming back from university at 7 o'clock at night. She was nothing worth crying about.

There was nothing to cry about, he told himself. But at night, he took his head in both hands as they filled with tears like two pools and thought of her endlessly.