legs. “And if you died”—he swallows hard—“it would fucking gut me.” I don’t know if my head can take much more, but here I am, bleeding tears. Breathless in a choke hold. “And I can deal with that. I just can’t handle the idea of you grieving me,” he murmurs. I press my hand to his cheek, and he leans into my touch. “Too late,” I whisper. “Whether you choose to love me or not, whether I’m with you or find someone else who wants my heart, if I’m alive when you leave this earth, I will grieve you. Your smile. Your laughter. Your touch.” I sniffle through my stuffy broken nose with shaky breath.
...more
