ruth keeps waiting for it.
her girlfriend cups her face with gloved hands, and ruth guesses this is as good a time as any.
after having a cup of her favorite tea at the coffee shop that witnessed their first date and now their nth one—babbling, laughing, kissing, refilling drinks, shins pressing together under the table and lips never staying still. after she drops ruth off at her front door and makes sure she's content. while facing the chilly wind with one of two hearts hanging by a thread. she draws circles on her cheeks, ephemeral warmth, and ruth waits, everlasting dread.
it's not you, it's me. it was good while it lasted, but it's just not working out for me anymore. we're better off as friends. she's gonna pull out all the stops, and the worst part is that she's gonna mean all of them. it gives ruth no room to get mad and put the blame on her, so with warm hands tilting her head up, she awaits, dreadful.
“i had fun today,” is what she gets instead, an air of elation about it that ruth can't quite understand. “thank you.”
“for what?”
she shrugs, smile never hesitating. “just—everything.”
hands pull ruth that last bit closer to her and she leans down to leave a peck, quick and light. her hold does nothing but get warmer by the second. not that ephemeral anymore.
ruth blinks. “text me when you get home?”
it's like an hourglass. you can turn it over as many times as you like, but the sand will merely continue to flow.
on the bus on their way back from school, when they kiss goodbye at the doorstep after one of them's over for dinner, during a study date at the library where they will whisper yell every conversation, over the phone on a tuesday night after hours. it always feels like it's about to come, yet it never does.
ruth keeps waiting for it.