The last train home
Soft goodbyes and hard smiles are all that I remember about you. You made it look like talking was hurtful. Like speaking a word would make your mouth bleed. And I loved how surprised you looked after a long conversation with me. I used to smile then. And you would smile back, rustling your hair slightly. You finally gave in. You weren't afraid of seeing me, talking with me, touching me. You said you were the happiest. And I flinched a little. To be responsible for someone's happiness is like holding a beating heart. Even though you look at it with fascination at a point, you have to let it die in your hands. And I was good at letting things die. You never said goodbye. And I said it all the time. You responded with a smile, or a nod, or a weak wave of hands. I wish you did too. You said you could never watch me go. That it breaks your heart a little. I'd tease you for sounding all cheesy. And you would laugh. But you weren't lying. Were you? Everytime we were ap