Waking up is the worst. Waking up is the worst especially when the sun is streaming through your windows and the day outside looks beautiful and ready to be conquered and all you can do is replay the lines "I can't do this anymore. I don't feel enough of a connection to move forward" over and over and over again in your head.
Over and over and over you try to untagle these words and make sense of them. "I don't think we're compatible." That one doesn't make much sense when long talks were had and long emails were sent and long talks in bed were had and you laughed you laughed you laughed more than any other boy has made you laugh before.
And what was that about a connection? You felt it in the beginning and you know he did, too. You felt it on your birthday and you felt it when you were sleeping and you felt it when he kissed your forehead when he thought you were sleeping and you felt it when he brushed the hair from your eyes so gently when he thought you were sleeping and you felt it when he couldn't stop hugging and kissing you and saying how he couldn't tear himself away. And you felt that connection those three weeks he was gone and you waited impatiently from a word, anything, from across the sea. And those words came, they always came, and you felt a connection then. You felt a connection when he gave you a thimble from Paris and your heart sped up just a bit. You felt a connection when he returned and you never thought you could be so happy travelling familiar streets in the sun with him by your side.
You always felt a connection and you know he did, too, and so you can't understand when this connection fell away and how it could leave so suddenly.
But it left, or he likes to believe it so, and so you are left untangling yourself from those words and that apple pie and a late walk home and one thimble from Paris.