You hugged me, once. You hugged me, and you meant it.
Or was it that I believed you?
The worst day of my life, meant to be your best. All for what?
Vows broken. Choices made. A terrible cost. Your battered heart laid out before me.
Let me, I silently implored. My fingers finally brushed the fine hair at your nape, your skin warm, pulse strong, beneath my palm.
"It's not okay. We're not okay." Your breath hitched and your sorrow crested anew.
"It's..." I hesitated, my other hand, rested on your shoulder, eased its hold as I waited for you to pull away. "Are we not?"
You could have retreated. Should have, long ago. I felt the tremor of fingers, your left hand, grip the front of my shirt. Your forehead, fevered with the exertion of your grief and shame, pressed over my heart. "No." I felt more than heard your whispered reply.
"John…" I breathed into your hair. With my arm across your back, I pulled you close, your head tucked below my chin. "Oh, John."
"I only… ever…." With your right hand you smoothed my tear damp shirt, somehow finding the small, bullet shaped, scar beneath the fabric. "...hurt you."
"And I you." My own tears fell as I placed a kiss on your brow.
