I returned his keys. All three of them. I locked myself out of his castle.
So I couldn’t sneak in any more. Couldn’t leave a rose on his bed and sneak out before he comes back. Couldn’t leave a note saying, “Je t’aime.” Nothing.
I knew I would regret.
Just five seconds after I closed the door to his room, I would regret and unlock his door and hold him so tightly until we both had to breathe again.
Just five seconds after I shut the door to his apartment, I would turn back and open both doors and hug him and cry, swearing never to let go again.
Just five seconds after I pulled the cold steel door closed, I would regret and turn back and unlock all the three doors and hold him in my arms, crying, stroking his hair, feeling his warmth, asking him can’t we try again.
So I returned his keys.
Sometimes we make a regrettable decision because we’re not aware of it. Sometimes because we’re too aware of it.