The City Keeps on Rolling

He’s leaning his forehead against the cool glass of the bus window as we leave Massachusetts behind us. The only light comes from the streetlights we pass – brief patches of dim illumination.

I watch his face.

His eyebrows knit together in a tight frown. His large, beautiful eyes slowly fill with tears. And I can tell he’s trying so hard to keep himself together for my benefit. But if anyone deserves to cry, it’s him.

He breathes deeply as Boston rolls by outside those dirty windows. His chin quivers.

I look away.

It kills me to see him like this. I know that I can offer him some comfort, but I also know that, deep down inside, I will never be the girl. He will always secretly wish that somebody else is holding him close. And that kills me a little as well.

I don’t know how we ended up here, like this.

A tear rolls down his cheek as he stares out the window. I touch his hand, but he pulls it away.

Outside the window, the city rolls by, and it takes everything I have to hold back tears of my own.

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