in a hundred words.

“You sure about this?” you ask me. We are sitting on the grass, so close that I’m aware of your thigh mere inches away from mine and the smell of your musky cologne. I’m sure that if I turn to look at you, I’d be able to count every freckle on your face.

“Yep,” I reply, my voice firm but inside I am quavering. No, I want to say. I’m not, but it’s for the best.

You are quiet for a moment, then finally sigh. “I’ll still wait for you, you know.”

Maybe then we’ll be right for each other.