"Is this really what you want?"
I watch him. His eyes are so inquisitive, so soft and deep and they don't want anything but me. He lays beside me on tangled sheets. He's only inches away from my breath.
"I don't know what I want," I say, helpless. I had so many feelings falling out of my sleeves, so many emotions that I couldn't name if I tried. The idea of love was sitting somewhere around us, but I couldn't find it.
He closes his eyes. His head lifts. He's closer now. I feel his lips. He kisses me.
Oh god. What have I done.
It continues. We don't try to stop it, we let it spiral and leave a trail of our sanity behind us. His hand crawls up my back, innocently running over my skin. His fingertips give me goosebumps.
I feel his breath, his tongue, his teeth -- I can't see. I can't think. I can't breathe.
Then he stops. His eyes never fail to lock with mine.
"I love you," he says.
He loves me. He finally said it. He finally fucking said it. His eyes are huge. The coffee color in his iris is swallowed by black. I look away -- it's too much for me, too real.
He loves me. But I don't love him back.
