like you were a ghost or a breeze or something else…

He looks at you, really looks at you, and it’s been so long since he did that. His eyes linger on the birthmark under your eye, the purple of your glasses. You’d forgotten that. You’d forgotten how it felt for his gaze not to skate over you like you were a ghost or a breeze or something else, non-corporeal and ultimately irrelevant. “Does it matter that I never wanted to hurt you?” he asks. “Does it change anything at all?” One hand grips the back of his neck, the other dangles by his side… read more >