ᴜɴᴇᴅɪᴛᴇᴅ ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀs ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏʏ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ » ᴄᴏʀʙʏɴ ʙᴇssᴏɴ

break

Break my own heart.

We hadn't seen each other in two weeks. Three months had passed since you returned from tour and one night, though I could see the exhaustion in your eyes, you insisted the visits that were becoming less and less frequent needed to change.

That assurance from you was the only motivation that kept me going some days, knowing that you still wanted to hold onto whatever we had.

We met up on the hill-our hill?-and when I saw the bags under your eyes, it was a natural response to cup your cheek in my hand, run a thumb under your eye. Then I realized what position I'd just put you in and that you were staring at me with this unreadable expression in your eyes, and it was too cold outside, and that wasn't my place.

So I let go and turned my face away and didn't say anything.

At the end of the night you hugged me, tighter than usual because you'd known me long enough to understand when something was bothering me. I hugged back but without much commitment because the hug didn't belong to me and neither did your attention. Or your heart.

I broke my own by pulling away, for your good.

Not for mine.