I looked into his eyes and suddenly felt a rush of emotion, of fear and of determination that I have tried for so long to hide from him. I can't do this any more. I cannot physically cause him
to suffer again at my hands. He reaches out, hurt radiating out of every blemish; every pore; every flicker of gold in his chocolate brown eyes. And it breaks my heart.
But my brain short cuts this. My silly hay-wired brain. The irrational side of me reaches back, pulls him closer until not even air comes between us. Two halves of a whole. Questions swarm around me. What will our families and friends think? Will I be able to go back? Will he ever move on?. Then his lips touch mine. Softly at first, then harder until I realise he is forcing me to see that he is what I want. So I kiss back, so hard that I wouldn't be able to tell him my own name. I open my eyes and all I can see is him. Flashes of him in 10, maybe 20 years time. Designing, which is what he loves best, in a huge studio. Returning home to a wife and smiling children. His dream. And I wonder where I fit. Some distant memory in the past, the first love who broke his heart but let him live his dream. I reconcile myself with that thought, then pour my life and soul into him so he can know it wasn't his fault. It's not you it's me. Ironically I actually mean it. Then I break away and start to run head-first into my future.
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