if I’d let myself kiss you that day—” His breath hitches. I watch him try to steady himself against some invisible emotion. “Maybe you would’ve been glad at first. Maybe you would’ve agreed if I’d asked you out. But what would have happened after two days? Two weeks? After you discovered that I’m not perfect—that I’m a coward, that I’m awful at making decisions and regret half the things I’ve done, that it’s nearly impossible for me to warm up to new people, that sometimes I’m hit with grief so heavy I can’t do anything except lie down in silence? After you realized there was no point wanting
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