Cleiton

FRIENDS She was tired of that look. It wasn't anger. It was something worse: expectation. Every time he looked at her like that, as if he were waiting for her to change her mind, the weight fell back onto his shoulders again. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she thought, but didn't say anything. She had already spoken. Once. Twice. Many times. He spoke carefully, respectfully, and patiently. He spoke trying not to hurt anyone. But he always came back to the same point, as if a conversation could turn into something else if you insisted enough. They were sitting on the same bench as always, the place where they used to laugh before things got complicated. "I just think you're scared," he said, in that tone of someone who believes he's right. She took a deep breath. Right there, in that instant, something inside her ended. It wasn't a lack of manners. It was exhaustion. "No," she replied firmly. "I'm not afraid. I'm being clear." He frowned, as if he didn't understand. Or perhaps he didn't want to understand. "I've said this so many times I've lost count," he continued. "It's not confusing. It's not a game. It's not a 'maybe'." She stood up. Her heart was racing, but her voice was steady. Do you want me to explain it another way? Do you want me to make it more obvious? He remained silent. Then she did something she had never done before. She spelled it out. Slowly. Looking into his eyes. — A. — M. — I. — G. — O. — S. Each letter was a limit. Each letter, a wall that she ultimately decided not to tear down. That's all I can be for you. And that's not little. But it's also nothing more than that.