It was a question I had worn on my lips for days – like a loose thread on my favourite sweater I couldn’t resist pulling – despite knowing it could all unravel around me. “Do you love me, I ask?” In your hesitation I found my answer.
You’re still crying about him aren’t you? Silly girl. What good will it do you to spill those sky blu tears? You meant either everything to him or absolutely nothing at all.
