Ugly Love

by Colleen Hoover

None of those kisses hurt like this one does, and I can’t tell why this one is hurting so much. I have to pull back. I tell her to give me a minute, and she nods, then rests her cheek against my chest. I lean back against the wall and pull her with me while I keep my eyes closed tightly. The words are once again attempting to break the barrier I’ve built up around them. Every time I’m with her, they want to come out, but I work and work to cement the wall that surrounds them. She doesn’t need to hear them. I don’t need to say them. But they’re pounding on the walls. They always pound so hard until all our kisses end up like this. Me needing a minute and her giving me one. They need out now worse than ever before. They need air. They’re demanding to be heard. There’s only so much pounding I can take before the walls collapse. There are only so many times my lips can touch hers without the words spilling over the walls, breaking through the cracks, traveling up my chest until I’m holding her face, looking into her eyes, allowing them to tear down all the barriers that stand between us and the inevitable heartbreak.