What I cannot forget from seven hours ago are the words that were uttered.
Do you know how it feels to teeter on the brink of vertigo?
Do you know what terror I felt during that brief inquisition?
Or the same terror I felt when I held my breathe in this infinitesimal second before you blurted out the words to validate the uncertainty of what I was holding dear for the past four months?
No. I didn't think I was being unfair.
So I asked you to leave so you can contemplate if you will come back.
I'd said I'd wait.
I see my nails turning purple from the cold.
I see the color of heartbreak and regret.
I see you, no, I feel you slipping through my fingers like red silk ribbons clumped at one's feet cluttered with crumpled and discarded giftwrapping papers.