“Where the fuck was I supposed to go? God, Christine…You get it, right? You know what’s happening? You know that this,” he squeezes my hand, “This isn’t what I thought, whatwethought?”
I nod, full of hope.
“It’s happening – and I didn’t want it to, but it’s happening. I can’t fight it, I can’t swim against the current. I’m not strong enough. My muscles are no fucking use. I can only let myself float away and…Fuck, I really want it to lead me away, if it means that it leads me to you.”
“I never had you down as a poet, Ryan O’Connor.”
“I’m not – that’s the amazing thing.”
He leans his forehead against mine and breathes slowly.
“You told me it was over – but you know what I think? Fuck that, Christine. Nothing’s over, because you and me still need a chance to begin.”
