"I thought about you," I tell him, closing my eyes and collecting my scattered thoughts. When I open them, he's leaning in closer, his elbows on the table. He's close - close enough to touch. I have to stop myself from reaching out. I feel like his eyes still see through me the way they always did. And even though what I want to say will reveal too much, I say it. "I mean...I think...I think about you."
His breath hitches.
I want to catch it.
"Stop," he says. "Just...just don't."
Frustration and embarassment flare.
I see his pain. It's written boldy across his face. It mars his otherwise beautiful features. But can't he see mine? Doesn't he see mine?
"What?" I ask. "You asked me. I mean, don't you? Just sometimes. Don't you ever think about me?"
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