One day, without warning, I put a lit cigarette into her eye. The air is perfectly immobile and the only sounds are the sizzle from the cigarette, and a half-swallowed cry far back in her throat.
I stop smoking and I pack my bags to go far away, but my train ticket disappears.
“I want you to stay,” she says.
“What if I hurt you again?”
“Do you plan to?”
“No, that is why I’m leaving.”
“So stay. Unless your guilt is more important to you than my feelings. I forgive you.”
She loves me just as playfully as before.