He was 31, you were 19.

He always did this. Always left you alone after making you feel like he worships the ground you walk on.

It's your breaking point when he's about to leave again, you're broken down crying in front of him.

He takes a drag of his joint, nonchalantly sitting next to you, tilting your chin, he wipes your tears, his hand rough against your skin.

"Shhh you know I only do this because I love you, baby," his hand roughly going through your hair, looking down at you.