Disclaimer: Not mine.
"Why'd'ya give up?"
"On what?"
She hesitates. "Love."
"More divorces than I care to remember aren't exactly encouraging."
"But why?"
I sigh. "I can't explain it. Not well anyhow."
She's quiet another moment before, "Are you scared?"
It's a good thing we're parked or else I would've driven off the road. I glance at her and find she's staring intently at me. I turn away to look at the bleak, slush covered road. Now comes a question I can't, or rather don't, want to answer. Just as I begin to really contemplate answering or not, I hear a rustle of movement and I know she's turned away. "Yes," I finally say, but it sounds more like a croak of a voice filled with too much emotion to sound normal. The rustle sounds again and she's looking at me; I can feel it.
"But... why?"
I'm suddenly frustrated by her child like questions. "Because saying you love someone is never enough. Because you have to give a piece of yourself to that person, and you know what? They don't always give it the best of care before they throw it out into the middle of a highway where cars run over it again and again and again." I look at her. "Because love isn't the fairytale everyone wants it to be."
She returns my gaze for what seems an eternity, but I know to be no more than a minute. Then I turn away. I'm tempted to ask her if she's happy now. If she feels better now, knowing what scares the bejesus out of me. But I don't. I don't because somehow I know she didn't mean for her questions to hurt. She just... she just...
"I'm sor--"
I shake my head. "Don't." I shake my head once more. "Don't say it."
"What am I supposed to say then?"
"You don't need to say anything," I almost whisper. "Every sob story doesn't need an apology or act of pity from the listening party. It just needs that person to be there."
"I'm here."