His arms wrapped tightly around you as he climbed onto the rooftop. It felt as though thousands of knives were tearing at his heart, knowing that this was the third time you were going to leave him. "When are you going to tell me?" he asked in a low voice.

"Why here?" It was always your request before you were ready to leave him again. He thought he was prepared for another moment of heartbreak. He had no tears left; he didn't cry, but his heart did. His gentle fingers caressed your face.