Gasoline And Matches

“You’re no good for me,” Georgia says, sitting with her arms wrapped around her legs and her cheek resting on top of her knees. Waylon is beside her, one leg dangling off the edge of the water tower and the other propped up, his arm resting on top of it. He leans back, eyes closing as he rests his head against the metal, still warm from the days sun.

“Why you say that?” Waylon says, drumming his hand against his leg. Georgia hugs her knees tighter, feeling her eyes start to burn. No, she thinks, no cryin’.

“Because you’re leaving. Because I’m leaving. Because we’re both supposed to go make something of ourselves, and,” she pauses, her voice catching slightly. She clears her throat and continues. “And because when we’re together, I want to give it all up. I want to forget about my dreams, all the work I’ve put in, my family and just stay with you. But I can’t. I can’t let myself or my family down.” She turns her face away, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. He reaches out, his big hand warm against her back.

“Peach,” he says, voice gentle. Georgia shakes her head, shrugging off his hand.

“Because when I look in your eyes Waylon, I see my future, my carefully planned and laid out future, go up in flames.” She turns to look at him, unwinding her arms from around her legs and leaning towards him. “And right now,” she said, voice low. “I’m ready to hand you the match.”

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