— S.Z. // Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #141 (via blossomfully) —

You say: ‘just stay for one more night okay? We can make this work.’

She sits there quietly. ‘Okay,’ she says, letting her head rest on your chest.
Tomorrow she will leave you with the taste of blood oranges between your teeth, but for now she curls up in your arms and kisses your neck before falling asleep.

‘We could make this work,’ you whisper softly, as if trying to pervade her dreams, ‘I promise, we really could.’ You want to hold onto her forever.

Tomorrow she will pack her bags and say goodbye. It will be like the two of you never shared a thing. ‘I have to go,’ she will say, ‘please understand.’ You worry that one day she will see you as a stranger.

You hold a ticking time bomb in your arms but you’ve never felt safer or more at home. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. ‘Let’s not worry about that’. Somewhere somehow you have always known: she may have been yours temporarily, but she has always been her own.

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