"I love you." She whispers into your hair.
You say it back, but she feels the uneasiness that has taken over your body. Pulling away, she studies your face in the orange glow of the dimmed lighting. "I mean it," you say truthfully. "But we'll destroy each other."
Her eyebrows pull together and you bite back the urge to smooth them apart. “How?” Her voice is small, innocent, like a child’s. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know the hurt that you both have endured will eventually consume you both. She doesn’t know that it will leave you gasping for air as it piles up until you can no longer hide it. Until there is nothing left. Until you are strangers.
“Your love will no longer run as deep as it does in this moment.” You finally say. The words spreading acid on your tongue once they leave your lips. Your mouth and eyes burn.
“No, no,” she says, touching your hair, touching your face. “It won’t happen. I won’t let it.”
Your hand finds her’s and she squeezes your fingers. There will be nights when your heart breaks over the thought of that simple action. “We can’t stop it.” You choke. “We’ll love each other apart.”
She cries and you hold her, and she holds you as if it could hold onto the moment before it becomes a memory of two people who used to used to be a universe.
Before the world decided they were too much.