He didn't touch me. He could have—he had the perfect reason to—but he didn't.
Instead he bent to collect my papers before the breeze could whisk them away. Instead he picked up my satchel from the sidewalk and asked if I was okay. Instead he stood between me and the busy street while I brushed the dirt from my palms and tried to
swallow the knot of frustration stuck in my throat. Instead he just waited. I had the strange thought that he would wait forever.

Nina Lane

Tag: love

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