“All of them?”
She nodded.
“More than once. I thought about trying to find you. But then I convinced myself that you had a life without me for sixteen years, and didn’t need me showing up.”
Jesus Christ.
I looked away briefly because emotion hit too hard all at once.
She read them.
Maybe not when I wrote them.
But eventually she knew.
Eventually she knew I loved her.
And somehow that mattered more than it should have.
A sad laugh escaped her suddenly through tears. “You wrote terrible poetry.”
I stared at her.
Then barked out an actual laugh for the first time all night.
Short.
Disbelieving.
Real.
Felicity laughed too, wiping at her face.
“You rhymed forever with together.”
“In my defense, I was twenty.”
“You were emotionally dramatic.”
“I was in love with you.”
The words slipped out naturally.
Too naturally.
Silence filled the room instantly afterward.
Heavy.
Breathing.
Dangerous.
Felicity went still in my arms.
And the terrifying part?
I realized it was still true.
