He asked me if I'd go back if I could, if I'd do it all again, with his forehead pressed to mine, with his tears sliding down my cheeks. "Yes," I said and his body shook with every unsteady rise and fall of his chest. Sympathy and pity alike tore at my heart. He still saw the good in me. He always would, no matter how many times my words hit him like a punch to the jaw, like a knife to the throat. No matter how many times I'd change my mind. He'd never understood that I didn't want to stay. That I wasn't one to stay.

"The only reason why I'd do it again is because it made me who I am today. The nights I spent lying awake, tossing and turning. The times I debated whether or not to call you. That hollow feeling in my chest when it was over all of a sudden. Leaving you on your doorstep with tears in your eyes hurt me as much as it hurt you."

But I don't know how to be different, I added in my head, I don't know how to stop running. I took a step away from him and wiped his tears from my cheeks. Then I did what I did best. I ran.