Her feeble heart was fluttering and skipping beats left and right, threatening to stop any moment in this thick silence.
His hair was still curly as ever, his chin still attempted to produce what you could almost call a beard, and he still stood awkwardly before her, not knowing what to say. He looked at her and missed her now more than ever, remembering every moment they had together. He wished it was all a nightmare, or a sad story a lonely girl had written late at night, but it wasn't. It was all painfully, and horribly real. He loved every inch of her, but he couldn't have her. He loved her flaws, because they were hers. He loved her awkwardness in front him, because it matched his. He matched her, yet she didn't match him anymore.
Her hair was still pin-straight as ever, her face still paper white, and she still stood awkwardly before him, not knowing what to say. She looked at him and her heart moaned. She wanted him to shake her awake and tell her it was all a bad dream and that everything was okay now that she was in his arms. But he never could. She missed his goofy dances he did in her living room and the way he laughed in the car, focusing on the road, desperately trying not to crash. She loved him. And that's what made everything so very difficult.
He watched her fidget, the way she always used to. He smiled at her and she smiled back and for a moment they matched.
And then it was gone.
She took a deep breath.
He sighed.
What now?
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