September 13th will be remembered as the first time you took me back to your place—a simple, cookie-cutter dorm room with a paper-thin mattress and pale purple sheets.
That night, you made me feel alive again, as we compared our bodies— from how cold our hands were, to how wide our wingspans were, and everything in between.
We were so different yet so alike, our bones hollowed out like those of birds so that our bodies could be lighter as we soared higher and closer to the sun.
Unfortunately for us, as we neared the stars—the heavens—a tempest, without warning, tried its hardest to blow us off track.
We beat, and we beat, and we beat our wings, fighting the storm with everything we had—everything within us.
After a time, though, it was too much to handle. Our fragile bones could take no more stress. They snapped.
When the damage had been done, you insisted that it was okay - that we could go on like this, beaten and battered by what we had endured.
You and I both know that even you, as persuasive as you may be, could not declare with conviction that we were okay.
We had been lucky enough to be granted our lives, even if we were bound to walk the earth with wounds for everyone to see from then on.
That's why I had to walk away. We had already tested fate once and came out just barely breathing. I couldn't stand to do it again, if it meant putting your life on the line.
I walked away because I cared about you.
Walking away was my way of protecting you.
Can't you see that?