But every time you hurt me,
the less that I cry
And every time you leave me,
the quicker these tears dry
And every time you walk out,
the less I love you
Baby, we don't stand a chance,
it's sad but it's true
I'm way too good at goodbyes
— Sam Smith, Too Good at Goodbyes
T Y L E R
I couldn't believe this was happening. Not now. Not after three years of living my life without her. Yet here she was, right in front of me where I could touch her to know that she was real. She looked at me with those blue-green eyes beneath her long lashes, and I suddenly felt like a seventeen years old boy who was completely in love with his three-years girlfriend.
"What are you doing here?" I caught her arms and helped her get up on her feet.
She smiled and put her forefinger up, pointing at the ceiling. "I'm going to the club. They have the best margaritas here. What about you?"
