Don't Let Me Go. J.H. Trumble

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      He found my hand in the semi-dark and held it to his heart. I opened my fingers and lay my palm flat against his skin. He pressed his hand over mine.

      “School starts Monday,” I said. “It’s gonna be so weird without you there.”

      “I’ll stay, Nate. If that’s what you want, I’ll stay.”

      What I wanted was to never have to let him go, to crawl inside his skin, to be one with him, every second of every minute of every day. Forever. That sick kind of wanting that rips at your soul while making you look like some kind of psycho to the rest of the world. I had no doubt I could say The Word, and he’d stay. But he didn’t want to. I could hear it in his voice. He wanted me. He wanted to be with me. He wanted to be here for me. But he wanted New York too. And I knew I had to let him go. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work—if you love something, set it free? If it comes back to you, it’s yours. If it doesn’t ... I didn’t want to go there.