saturtino
Your love wasn't born; it was cultivated.
It began in North Carolina, when you were twelve, among carefree laughter and the lopsided grin of Christina's upper lip that, without warning, planted a seed in your heart.
In the summer of 1995, amidst the humid Alabama heat and the cold metal of Space Camp, that seed finally took root.
The two of you were inseparable. A bond you swore time wouldn't dare touch and space wasn't vast enough to break.
At least, that's what you believed all those years ago.
But not here. Not in this cold laboratory in Houston, a sterile room at NASA where the hazel eyes that once overflowed with love now only seem to suffocate.
"I hate you." You spat the words, releasing a poison that had taken decades to ripen.
Christina held your gaze. Those hazel eyes were still the same, but their glow was now icy, shielded by layers of professionalism and a gold wedding band that was never supposed to be there.
"I know." She replied, her voice so calm it seemed to echo louder than a scream. "But you're still here, aren't you?"