“I'd be so fucking good to you, Mark.”
“I know you would.”
He switches from hypotheticals to promises.
“You'll never ever have to dilute yourself for me. I'll never make you hide.”
I want so badly to believe it, to melt into those arms right here in the crowd.
But all I can offer is a breathless nod.
Tears sting as they roll down my face.
“Don't cry,” Olsen implores. “I didn't mean to upset you. Come here.”
My bag slips to the ground.
Heartache is a heavy weight I’ve grown accustomed to carrying.
“I know he was your first,” he soothes. “I get it, it's hard to let go. But Porter…”
“Already has,” I finish. “He’s already let go.”
A hollow grief echoes in my chest, the dam breaking at last.
“I've been watering a dead plant, haven't I?”
Olsen offers refuge, holding me tight as I sob.
“You don't have to choose me, okay? I shouldn't have said that.”
He brushes a tear from my chin.
“But at least choose yourself. Please promise me that.”
I let myself fall.
Down, down, down.
A pain that creeps in like the tide.
“You didn't imagine it,” I whisper.
“Hmm?”
“You didn't imagine it. I've been falling for you too.”
The confession unravels between us.
“Saying goodbye will break me though.”
“And I’ll be right by your side. Even as a friend.”
I take a moment to let it all sink in.
He sweeps a strand of hair from my brow.
“There are different types of goodbyes,” he shrugs. “Not all of them are forever.”
