index | archives | notes

Wednesday, Apr. 28, 2004
5:01 p.m.
<< [
Mentor ] >>

I held you for a moment. I walked to the door and put my hand up to it, about to push it open, when I stopped.

A change of mind, maybe. All that really mattered was you in my arms. I would have done it sooner, but I had to restrain myself. I watched the tears form in your eyes and I watched you hold them back; play it off as a cold. You're good at playing things off, aren't you?

What did I expect? It's theater class. We're all good at pretending.

But it was not pretend when I held you in my arms for a moment. It wasn't fake when I wished I could absorb all your pain as my own.

I held you, and then I was the first one out the door.

<< | x | >>
whatiscopyright.org