She holds my face tight, pushing my cheeks in like this.
He pushes his cheeks in.
‘Look at that face’, she says. Obviously I can only see hers. She is pretty, if the light’s right. But this feels really quite weird. I don’t know if it’s because I’m leaving or because she’s a bit pissed, but she’s really making things quite uncomfortable.
Then she says ‘don’t waste it’.
‘Waste what?’ She holds my face tighter, ‘what you’ve got, right here’. I’m lost. I just kind of raise one eyebrow and try to smile, but I can’t because of the.
He squeezes his cheeks.
Her eyes are glistening, just along the rim, and then she says, ‘if I had it back, I’d probably just waste it all over again.’
And I say.
Nothing. I don’t say anything. I want to, but I can’t. Then she lets me go.
But just because I never said it doesn’t mean she didn’t know. She knew I loved her. She must’ve known.
Because I did. I loved her.
And she knew that, even though. Even though I never said it.