Two weeks replaying every conversation we've ever had.
Every fight.
Every almost.
Every time I looked at him and wanted something.
I didn't know how to survive wanting him.
Every morning I came here and hoped he would show up.
My throat tightens.
"Rhys."
His expression changes immediately.
Because he knows.
He always knows.
"I spent my whole life thinking love was something I didn’t deserve."
The words come out rough.
"I thought it was supposed to hurt. I thought if you cared enough about something, eventually it would find a way to break you."
The confession feels worse than any hit I've ever taken.
"I don't know how to let people in. I don't know how to stop waiting for them to leave. I don't know how to believe something good can actually happen to me."
My voice breaks.
Just a little.
"But then you happened."
His eyes close briefly.
I keep going before I lose my nerve.
"You kept showing up."
Yesterday.
Today.
Tomorrow.
Always.
"You kept pushing."
A laugh escapes him.
Wet around the edges.
"And somewhere along the way you became the first person I've ever wanted to stay."
