You've been gone for the past few days.
I've rarely even noticed.
I'm guessing that's a good thing.
I guess I'm slowly getting over you.
But every once in a while, I'm reminded of you.
Of us.
And my breath is caught, and the stitches start to unravel again.
Will this be permanent?
This broken piece of me.
This clouded mind filled with thoughts of you.
This feeling of abandonment-of loneliness.
I look at you, and I wondered what exactly happened.
How did we get here?
How did we get here where we can barely even make basic conversation?
How did we get here where we can't even make eye contact without abruptly turning away?
How did we get here where we sit at opposites sides of the room because we can't even be near each other?
How did we get here?
And how can I escape?
YOU ARE READING
The First
Short Story"I am glad it cannot happen twice, the fever of first love. For it is a fever, and a burden, too, whatever the poets may say." ~Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca You were the first one. And no matter how hard I try, I can never forget.
