I grab his hands and touch them softly to my cheeks, "You cup her face, ever so gently."
"Then what?" he asks, letting out a breath neither of us knew he was holding.
"Then," I say slowly, "As your eyes start to close, your forehead comes down to meet hers." His forehead touches mine and I look up. His eyes are still closed. "You look back at her and she is already staring up at you, waiting for you to make your next move." He opens his eyes and his pupils almost look dilated. They have always been an icy blue, but in warm lights surrounding us they have grown softer. "Then you whisper the two words she never thought would escape your mouth, 'I'm sorry'."
In a breathy whisper so soft only I can hear it, he repeats my words. I take his hands in mine and move them down to my hair. "Your hands slide down my hair and they linger . . . for just a second too long."
I could hear our hearts beat in time as we stood together
"Your hair?" he asks softly.
I let out a long breath, realizing the mistake in my words. "Hers," I respond with confidence, "Her hair."
We stand together in silence, his hands still twirling my hair anxiously. Seconds feel like minutes as they pass and it takes me longer than it should to finally step back. This is not our time.
