Do you ever think — that it’s even in the Realm of Possibility — that you could love me?
Do you love me?
One of those things that I was so sure about six months ago is now tugging on my sleeve with a cloudy face, wondering why I haven’t played with her for the past three months.
"Sorry, monster," I whisper, and pick her up in my arms. She’s light as a feather and I push back the hair that’s stuck to her teary face. She’s all soft corners and cupid lips and pout, and I want to toss her up in the air so she can come floating back down to me in smiles. But if I let her go, I don’t know when I’ll see her again. She’s another thing I need to clutch at to stay afloat myself.
"We’ll play soon, I promise."