“This is stupid!” he yells, opening his arms, laughing incredulously. “I don’t want to say goodbye. We don’t have to.” “You’re staying.” The wind carries my voice like it’s a ribbon. My heart feels like it wants to rip my chest open and jump its way to him. “You’re going,” he replies softly, as if to say, No one is to blame. It’s all just crappy luck. “I don’t want to go,” I admit. “I don’t really want to stay.” He ducks his head, hiding what’s in his eyes, and I wish I could take a picture of him like that, all beautiful and raw and mine on the beach. My wilted sunflower. “I’ll give you my
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