“i'm sorry,” i whisper, kissing around the plaster over and over. “so sorry.”
and it’s not only because i couldn’t save him in time.
i’m sorry about being a coward who can’t kiss him in public but hungers for him in private.
i’m sorry that i retreated after he ended things when i should’ve fought for him.
but most of all, i’m sorry that he even wants me.
“remember when you told me to tell you something in russian?”
“you said i was cute.”
“no. i said ‘i can’t live without you,’ and we take that quite literally in russia.”