How were we suppposed to know?
No amount of wishing would give us the time we wanted: we turned, at last, onto an avenue that was as familiar as my favourite book. I could have closed my eyes and counted the paces to her apartment block, even in the soft patter of rain.
She paused at the second step up, while I stayed on the first; I looked up at her and she looked down at me.
Not for the first time, I felt a warm rush of wonder. She really was beautiful. Caught up in our playful teasing, I hadn't told her that enough - and now, I would never be able to again.
"Thanks for tonight."
"Won't you come inside? Just for coffee, come on. Just this once."
"It's not a good idea. You know that."
"I wish... we had more time."
"Not the only thing I wish for, believe me."
"Oh... I'm so sorry."
"So am I. So am I."
Her tears glistened brightly, swimming with neon distortions like the wet pavement. I knew it was the wrong thing to do, but I jumped that last step and hugged her tight.
We didn't say goodbye. We both hated that word.
No prequels yet. Why not write one?
No sequels yet. Why not write one?
Comments (2 so far!)
Not precisely a memory, less than a daydream, more than a nightmare. Mixed and muddled and rinsed and soaked with anger and regret and sadness.
- #3243 Posted 2 years ago
So very sad! I take it that she offered the coffee in friendship and out of kindness rather than out of any desire, though I wanted the desire to be there, for her to feel a mutual regret to give him hope. Unfortunately, it seems you painted her in a light that she had moved on to a place where he could not follow. It's heartbreaking. I feel very similarly.
- #3244 Posted 2 years ago
- Published 2 years ago and featured 2 years ago.
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