Darling,
ten
“I thought we weren’t playing games,” she whispers, her voice hoarse. He glances at her, his heart sinking. She looks terribly sad, terribly alone.
“I thought everything was a game,” he replies, though now wanting to pull her into a hug. He tries to rationalize this urge by thinking to himself, “six months, six months.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry I left you.”
“Me too,” he replies harshly, though feeling a sharp pain in chest, a strong stinging in his eyes.
“I’m sorry I came back.”
He doesn’t respond.
“I thought everything was a game,” he replies, though now wanting to pull her into a hug. He tries to rationalize this urge by thinking to himself, “six months, six months.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry I left you.”
“Me too,” he replies harshly, though feeling a sharp pain in chest, a strong stinging in his eyes.
“I’m sorry I came back.”
He doesn’t respond.