He spied me sitting cross-legged on the floor. I spied the
remorse in his eyes as he rounded the corner.
When
he reached me, he bent down on my level, sitting cross-legged as if
he was my mirror. Without a word his fingers grazed my cheek and
erased all of the pain I had let go. He brushed my hair behind my
ear, barely touching my forehead as he did so in the off chance I
would recoil.
Still in silence, he stood and extended his hand to me.
He waited for me to put my hand into his and forgive him.
Surprising myself, I did. Palm-to-palm, I wrapped my fingers around
his and allowed him to pull me up.
“I’m here,” he said, and that was all that I
needed.