The conversation took a turn.
A turn, I wasn't expecting.
Like when a yield sign
is on one side of the road
and you have to brake anyway
for the people that don't follow it.

"I'm sorry," you breathed,
hugging your legs close,
tucking your hands behind
your kneecaps.

Your bed suddenly felt
like I was sitting on stone.
"You don't want me anymore,"
I shouted in a pain-ridden voice.
I pulled away, sinking further
into myself and bending over.

You pull for me.
Your hand snags my shirt
and then my arm.
You attempted to pull me
in closer to you.
I never understood why
you wanted to give me
a protective embrace.

"You said you don't want me anymore!"
I reiterated, looking at him with
tear-streaks on my cheeks.
Any hope left was in this one moment,
and it turned out to be the moment
you let me go.