First Person POV:
I let his hand slip away, and as I lost the connection, I felt as if I could not breathe. Every thing I knew screamed that I could not let him go; I could not let him walk away without losing a piece of myself. He had been with me every step of the way; he had fought for me, almost died for me; and now, he was leaving — and I had the feeling it was in some strange way also for me. He was selfless in so many ways, but arrogant and brash. He reacted on instinct, forgetting the pleasantries of life and spoke often without tact. I hated that about him until I remember that his pushes made me pull. He had become my moon, ebbing the tides of my life, and I couldn’t continue without his steady rhythm even when he made me want to scream.
And I did just that.
His name crossed my lips in a desperate cry seconds before I had even decided that I could not let him go. My feet carried me at a run on the same path he had just walked. I could still see the slight press of his boots upon the dusty ground. I cried out again as I came to a stop. He stood before me, emotionless and unchanging in posture and expression. But his eyes — the ever soulful gems — spoke to me as they had upon our first meeting. There was hope in them now, as if he was waiting for me to ask. He would not stay, if I did not ask, and I knew I had to swallow my pride or watch him turn his back for the second time that day.
“Stay,” I pleaded. I did not bother with pretense or to guard myself as I had been taught. I wanted nothing to stand between us anymore. Not pride, not arrogance, not selfishness. I only wanted love, his love, and I begged the great spirits to grant me his heart. Mine was already lost to him.
— H. Danielle Crabtree