Something warm rolls down my cheek, followed by another. His thumb brushes away the tears. It’s such a simple move, such a tiny gesture, but it’s the final thing. The last little thing that I can bear, and then I’m sobbing, hard, harsh, gasping sobs and he’s gathering me up into his lap, his hands smoothing over my hair and my back, letting me cry into his shoulder and the crook of his neck. I’ve cried on him before, but this is different. This is from the bottom of my soul, and it hurts to cry this hard. It chokes me and settles in my chest like a fist, and I can’t breathe right. His hands never stop their motion, and I curl into him like I would a pillow, only he’s stronger, strong enough to hold on to me even when the sobs threaten to tear me apart.

God, it hurts so much.

West of the Moon, East of the Sun by KnifeEdge (via actuallyitsaidpratty)

AND HE CRIED TOO AND I CAN’T. I CAN’T. I QUIT.

I feel the tingles as Mr. Gordo approaches. He moves towards the bed and I track his progress almost absently. When I don’t speak or move, he climbs into bed, then sits there. I can feel his eyes on me, studying. He taps three times.

I can’t answer.

He shifts closer, taps again. I swallow hard, feeling the words in my throat, rising up like bile. My breath hitches as I fight to shove them back down.

Three more taps, closer still. Then cool hands on my shoulders, shaking me slightly. I open my eyes.

Black. Nothing. Darkness.

I can feel him in front of me, though, waiting, wondering what’s wrong.

West of the Moon, East of the Sun by KnifeEdge (via actuallyitsaidpratty)

The one i am reading.

I CAN’T.