Ficlets and Ficly survivor, FicMom, and Mistress of Well-Intentioned Indecision and Goddess of Unrequited Love. @ElshaHawk @HawkandYoung
She mourned him. Not even the real him. She mourned the loss of the fantasy she'd made of him.
In her dreams he said all the right things, had all the right moves, shared the same jokes, had the cutest smile and softest touch. She happily stayed in bed to recreate some perfect scene over and over.
Her dreams had lasted long enough that there were many settings, many variations on the story. Sometimes one or both of them was fresh from a break-up. Sometimes they stumbled into each other in a public place. Sometimes reality crept into the scenes. If she really did have a bad day at work, or if he really did have an argument with his friends, their conversation changed in the dream.
That's what halted the entire thing. The reality was that he was not interested in her. Never was. While her heart had raced inside that elevator (why had she never dreamed of an elevator?!), the conversation turned starkly real. Her heart dropped.
He called her by the wrong name.
She silently unfollowed him on Facebook.
No prequels yet. Why not write one?
No sequels yet. Why not write one?
Comments (1 so far!)
Oof. The feels.
- Posted 6 days ago
- Published 7 days ago.
- Story viewed 6 times and rated 0 times.
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