Dreaming of Reality
His lips on mine taste of guilt. The room, which had been so spacious only moments before, is now hideously claustrophobic. His hand strokes across my knee lightly and lifts to caress my arm. Flashes of blonde hair and hazel eyes swim behind my closed eyelids. I can't let myself enjoy this. It's wrong.
The expression on his handsome face is one of pain. I can see the hurt behind his eyes and I know that I've made a terrible mistake. I apologise and call myself a jerk, hoping that he will realise that I'm saying it because I know he can't. It's empty. Hollow excuses. Meaningless apologies.
I can feel myself edging closer to the door. An escape route. I wish he was screaming. Instead, he's perfectly calm insisting that, "It is what it is. You. Me." Tears sting my eyes. I have to get out.
We say our awkward goodbyes. This might be the last time I ever see him. I want it to be a bad dream that I could wake up from any second now. No such luck. I need time. We both do. We've changed too much.