I turn away from him, my hand leaving his,
hoping the wind will dry the tears
as soon as they leave my eyes.
But they keep coming,
spilling like they’ve been dying to.
I let out this weird half-laugh, half-sob.
I’m laughing-crying,
and I don’t know which part is worse.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
And now my hands are shaking.
Yeah, it’s the view.
But it’s him, too.
It’s me.
It’s everything I’ve been fighting not to feel piercing through.
Then his hand catches mine again,
and he turns me to face him like?—
Right here, angel.
And I fall.
Into his chest?—
the only place left in the city that tucks me in.
His warm arms come around me,
pulling me in, and the world drops out.
As if he’s held me a thousand times before.
And he’ll do it a thousand times more.
I fist the back of his shirt.
“I don’t cry like this—I don't.
“That’s not my shit,” I breathe into him.
“I don’t get it, I’m not sad. Nothin’s wrong.”
I let out another broken laugh.
“I don’t know what the fuck this is.”
