Georgia

She pulls away, letting her cheek rest on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, not sure of what to do with himself. “I didn’t, I guess I thought,” she reaches up and covers his mouth, not wanting to hear him talk, just wanting to feel him breathe. She pulls at his arms, pulling them up, trying to make him hold her. He does, and his heart races and he thinks about how he’d like to tell her how he feels about her, how he’s not sure how to feel about her, how to feel about anything. He wants to tell her she’s pretty, and that things will be alright soon. He’d like to tell her he loves her. But he’s not sure if that’s okay.