PRECIOUS
--
I don't want to let go, I don't want you to leave, but I'm forced to say "yes" and nod and smile and accept what I want to shun, because I don't want to sound selfish, I don't want to sound mean, I don't want to make the wrong impression.
"I'll be fine" are the words I push through gritted teeth, gnashing at the intruder that tries to take you away from me. I'm trying to work hard, and I can only do that if it's with you, not with anyone else, because you're the best, and I don't want to work with less than that.
I feel my blood boil and fingers wrap tightly into a fist as I move back in the line to face someone else, to practice with someone else, someone who isn't as good, someone who isn't you.
I hate this.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that you're not doing much progress either. I can tell that you aren't doing your best. I can tell that you're holding back, that you're not giving it a hundred percent. You pause and stop because he cannot cope, because he doesn't know how you work with this kind of thing. You aren't doing your best. You aren't with me.
Or maybe I'm just pacifying myself with these notions that we were meant to be a team.
Or maybe I just miss you.