Monday, December 5, 2011

Truth in cliches.

She looked at him, smiling at Her. He was enthralled by her grace and lightness. The way she flipped her hair, and looked up shyly through her eyelashes, the way she laughed, a girlish caress to the wind, the way she believed in what he did.
Because the beliefs they both had in common were the most important thing. That was the first thing he looked for now. Never again would he make the mistake of falling for the wrong girl.
He pushed away the ugly thought, tinged with just the right amount of discomfort and a pinch of pain.
It was a new day, a new him. He had chosen his path, he had done what was best for him, and he had convinced himself that what he was doing was okay. It was the right thing to do.
For him, anyway.
He took a sip from his non-alcoholic beverage and concentrated on the conversation.
It was, if he was honest with himself, a bit tiring to be constantly chipper and his jaw had developed a bit of an ache due to all the forced smiles. It wasn't that she was boring, it was just that she wasn't that interesting.

She saw his eyes glaze over for a few seconds and the pain in her heart lessened the tiniest bit.
Why could she not be happy for him? He'd clearly moved on, was visibly happy for her and played the cool card whenever they had a chance to catch up.
He was obviously made of tougher stuff than she. She saw him lean closer and point at Her face.
She felt nauseous. The girl laughingly said something, and he gently brushed her cheek with a tissue.
The black mark that she'd taken for a mole fell away, and as they stared into each others eyes, a tear worked its way into the corner of hers.

She stood up.
She had had enough.
She would not torture herself anymore.
He had led her on, made her feel special, then dumped her as soon as the other girl had made an appearance.
He had used her until the better package had come along- and even though she knew she was being unfair- they had technically agreed on everything- she wanted him, like she had all those years ago.
Was in love with him, and did not know how to cure it.
'Love' had been a sharp slap in her face.
Something that bruised her insides and made her crazy.
She knew it existed somewhere, but clearly not for her.
Would she ever feel this way again about someone?
She was afraid of the answer.
She did not want to be a jealous, selfish, shell of a person.
They say time is the best healer of wounds. They probably never had their heart stamped on until it was in smithereens.
She shook her head, dabbing at her eyes.
She reluctantly acknowledged that she would have let him go completely for a while, if she wanted her thoughts to stop doing a horrible dance around his being.
She had to give time a shot.

As she walked out of the cafeteria, he looked up and caught her eye.
She did not smile.
Neither did he.

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