She supported me tonight.
She sat there and made jokes, trying to get me to smile, all whilst knowing that it wasn't going to happen.
She knew what was going to happen.
She knew that the tears were coming and the freaking out was following right after, hand in hand.
But instead of letting me show how I felt there, we went, hand and hand, to a place where I didn't have to keep my feelings in.
She lit my cigarette and started talking. She never knew it but the sound of her voice calms me down. It grounds me and gives me something to focus on. That's why I never make her stop talking, especially in a moment like this.
She opened up, completely. She shared pieces of herself I thought I'd never know.
And I did my best to not cry, but it was too much, and I lost it. I tried so hard not to, because I think it upsets her to see me hurting. I'm not sure, but she makes it a point to get me to stop as soon as possible.
She came, she supported me, she held my hand, and let me cry. She knew it was going to be a rough night in the cold, but she still came anyway. And that's what I find wonderful. She endured that, for me.
