Man, I fucked up.

    I fucked up, bad.

    I guess I kind of always knew that I had, but it never hit me until now. And here she was, sobbing at my feet, cross faded out of her mind, her hands balled into white knuckled fists on the tops of my shoes, crying that she wanted to go home.

    But that was it; I was supposed to be her home. 

    Fuck.     

    When I first met Iris, she had a boyfriend. A boyfriend, I might add, that she was crazy about. And I, was crazy for her. 

    She knew it, too.