All the time it was ok. You were ok. If not entirely ok, then at least mostly ok. Until the moment he held your hand ever so tenderly, brought it close and kissed it. Or when he absentmindedly brushed your hair aside and gently kissed your forehead, lingering there for a few seconds.
That was when you melted, like an ice-cream dropped on Ayers Rock at midday. Turned into water. Just dripping.
Which was kind of hard to undo. And, holy macaroni!, totally NOT ok.
What to do what to do?
Of course you’d have a few extra ice-creams stashed away in the freezer. You’re no longer naive enough to put all your eggs in one basket. But damn, that’s one down. *sigh*