[He does it again. "Love," in that tender way he always used to. His way of saying how he felt without ever actually saying it. He made her heart flutter then and he still does it now, like that hummingbird trapped in its cage looking for a way out.
She hums her objection quietly, running her lips over his jaw, allowing his scent that she has missed so, so much fill her head, but with it come those memories, and then the feelings, and then the pain when they squeeze her heart until she might bleed.]
I hate it.
[No, she doesn't, but her next words are the truth.]
no subject
She hums her objection quietly, running her lips over his jaw, allowing his scent that she has missed so, so much fill her head, but with it come those memories, and then the feelings, and then the pain when they squeeze her heart until she might bleed.]
I hate it.
[No, she doesn't, but her next words are the truth.]
I can't handle it.