Georgia
seventeen
"I don’t think it ever really goes away," she mumbles to him, her hair brushing his lips as she grips his sweater. She is clinging for comfort.
"What, exactly?" he asks, though he’s sure he knows the answer.
"The sadness. The missing him. The cold ache that spreads in my chest when I hear his name. The lump in my throat when I am reminded that he is not here anymore." She’s not sure she remembers speaking these words.
He kisses her head, his hands pressing firmly against her shoulders, hoping his security would make her feel safe.
It did, but not in the way she needed. Never in the way she needed. You cannot feel safe from sadness, from longing.
"What, exactly?" he asks, though he’s sure he knows the answer.
"The sadness. The missing him. The cold ache that spreads in my chest when I hear his name. The lump in my throat when I am reminded that he is not here anymore." She’s not sure she remembers speaking these words.
He kisses her head, his hands pressing firmly against her shoulders, hoping his security would make her feel safe.
It did, but not in the way she needed. Never in the way she needed. You cannot feel safe from sadness, from longing.