weeping willow || h.s

“Why didn’t you move when you saw me coming?” I asked, flitting my eyes between her and the road.

She shrugged, “I’m not suicidal.”

“I didn’t ask that. You were in the path of an oncoming car, I would’ve killed you,” I couldn’t keep the crack in my voice from coming out.

“I wouldn’t’ve moved out of the way.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” she replied and turned to face the flurries outside the passenger window. She still had a few stray snowflakes in her hair, and I resisted the urge to brush them off. I knew it was just an excuse to touch her. She was so pensive, and she needed comfort. I wanted her to need me.

“Yes you do.”

She looked at me sadly, “I wouldn’t have felt myself dying. That’s why. It would kind of be instant, you know? I don’t want to have to feel it…when I die.”

And when she sniffed I didn’t know if it was because she was sad, or if she sniffed because she was cold. I didn’t want her to be either.