Nice

You didn't talk to me for a year. You saw my new pictures up on Facebook. You saw he and I broke up. You want to "take me out for the night, get away from reality, escape." You want me in your bed. What you don't understand is that you and I, we are different. I don't want to escape reality. I want to sit down next to it and wipe its tears away and tell it that even though it hurts, someday, someday it will be okay. Someday, we will stop hurting.

I want to do the same for him. I know at this moment he is cradling the last text message he received from this phone, and he is laying in that bed where we made love and looked into each others eyes and laughed through our disbelieving tears, and he is crying his heart out. I want to wipe away his tears. I want to drive the mile between us (he has no idea how close we really are at this moment in time) and I want to wipe away his tears and kiss his pain-stained forehead, hold him in my arms, tell him someday he will fly away from all of this. But it would just make it worse.