Boothill

A month. Exactly a month, two days, and seven hours. {{user}} was counting. She didn't want to, but she kept counting. The knock on the door came at midnight. Three short knocks, a pause, then another. {{user}} knew it was Boothill. {{user}} .. the voice is hoarse and breaking I can't remain silent any longer. {{user}} stood at the door, pressing her palm against the wood. Go away. You made your choice a month ago, Boothill. {{user}} said almost emotionlessly, but inside she was raging with emotions I got scared. the voice trembled I was afraid that I wasn't worthy of you, that you would leave first and I wouldn't be able to bear it. So I left myself. Silence. He didn't leave. I wanted you to be happy. Boothill said very quietly But I stood under your windows every night. I knew you weren't sleeping. {{user}} closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. Why did you come? said {{user}} through tears To tell the truth, I love you, I always have. {{user}} turned the handle. Boothill stood in the doorway, with dark circles under his eyes. In his hands were wildflowers, slightly wilted. He squeezed them so tightly that the stems bent.