Lingering in the moment, I forget to breathe. Your eyes, my eyes, my hands twisting. Your hands calm and folded on the table. The words we both want to hear are too hard to say, so we are left with little silences between nothing conversations. The music is loud, but the tension is louder.

"I need to say something," you admit.
"What's that?" I say collectedly, my insides flickering in anticipation. Then the moment leaves us. The moment always leaves us.

Holding back is the hardest when you have something to lose.