| Her breath flickers in the wind
|
| An icy chill frosting the corners of her eyes
|
| Unsettled and alone
|
| Awaiting the touch that will never come
|
| Asking herself with a passion he could never match
|
| Even if he wanted to
|
| The only thing he seems to dedicate himself to these days is the suppression of
|
| feelings that might open him up
|
| To her, this makes no sense
|
| Her heart spends more time on her sleeve than it does in her chest
|
| His, on the other hand, hasn’t seen the light of day in years
|
| He approaches
|
| His shoes are worn through
|
| The soles have holes he’ll never fix
|
| She asks him why one day
|
| He considers his response darkly
|
| Biting chipped nails and nursing a cigarette
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| They ponder for a moment, lost in the image of the dancing smoke
|
| Flittering through the wind as he maneuvers a cigarette
|
| He was never good at answering hard questions
|
| «I never really thought about it» he responds
|
| «Why? |
| does it bother you?»
|
| She considers for a moment, wondering if now is a good time
|
| «Yes, a lot about you does»
|
| He glances quickly downwards, avoiding her gaze |
| Praying the following conversation will evaporate like the smoke seeping into
|
| the air
|
| «Do you love me?» |
| she asks
|
| He pauses
|
| «I think we both know the answer»
|
| His words are lost in the chasm of his throat
|
| His eyes giving way to the flood of emotion he’s been running from for years
|
| «You've wasted my life, why didn’t you tell me?»
|
| Her voice breaks
|
| It’s over |