Tears on My Pillow

“Hey.” The word was whispered, and for a second it was incorporated into my dream. A light touch on my shoulder. And then I was awake looking at the green digital clock on the TV. 4:00 AM.

It took me a minute to rememer where I was, what had happened. And then it all came crashing back in a wave that was so tangible it seemed physically exhausting.

When my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could tell that he had been crying again. I knew that I had made the right decision to stay through the night, deciding to let people think what they wanted.

“Hey,” he said again.

“Hey,” I repeated, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

He reached out and touched my hand. “I’m afraid,” he said simply, his face once again crumpling into a storm of tears. I pushed over on the fold-out bed to make room for him. He wrapped his arms tightly around me, and I could feel his shoulders gently shaking as he sobbed silently.

His tears soaked my hair and neck, and I wondered if we would ever truely be okay again.

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