This is not a love story.
I can barely see you through the waterfall of tears streaming down my cheeks.
A heavy heart mixed with half a bottle of red wine and I see only what I want to.
You take my hand because you hate to see me cry and tuck me into bed; I’m one to be dramatic. The crinkled lavender and navy sheets don’t feel so soft anymore as I know where this story ends. Dread envelops the words against my lips, coaxing me to silence instead. These feelings, a year in the making, I can’t hold them back any longer.
I love you. It was barely a whisper but your furrowed brow spoke volumes. My heart and head are pounding harder than ever. I can’t hear anything at all but I don’t need to to know where this story ends.
You tuck me back into bed and hold me in the tear-stained sheets. I’m always a bit too dramatic. You coax me back into silence and I tuck those words far away from my lips; let’s forget this night ever happened, okay?
Remember, we are not a love story.
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