domingo, 20 de março de 2011

Nothing would go right. She would write and delete, write and delete. God, she hated when no idea would actually come up. She was at Starbucks for hours, it was her third coffe already and all she was able to write was two lines. Two, really stupid and nonsense, lines. She had even made a pact with herself - only drink a tip of her coffe when she wrote more. So, right now, besides all, she was really thirsty too.
Maybe it just wasn't her day.
- Hi.
Correction, it, definitly, wasn't her day.
One year had gone by since the last time she had actually heard that voice. One year since that night in which everything ended so badly. One year since she had cried like she didn't even know she could. One year since she had last seen those blue eyes, and one year since she had forgotten how those eyes could make her feel.
- Hey.
He looked good. He looked happy. He looked everything she hoped for a year he wouldn't when they met again. It was weird, actually. For a whole year she imagined what would be like to see him again. To talk to him again. Would she say something stupid? Would she feel strange? Would those eyes of him make her melt again?
- How have you been?
Yes, definitly would make her melt again.
What had happened to them? Why were they having this polite conversation? She wanted him to call her brunette like he always did. She wanted to call him weird like she did everytime he would insist on eating something disgusting.
- I've been
It was ironic. The place where they had met in first place, being the same place they would first meet after everything was done and said. After everything was over.
- I...I've been good too. I actually remembered you last week, I passed by that place which you would always talk about their lemon ice cream? Decided to finally give it a shot.
What was she supposed to do? Go on with this...thing they were pretending to be a conversation? To say goodbye one more time? To see him leaving again?
- Liked?
- I...I loved it.
- I am glad you did.
So, this was the moment where both would stop talking, that weird silence would stay and he, once again, would leave? She really shouldn't have left her house in the first place that morning.
- I am sorry.
And suddenlly, it all stopped. As she looked at him, she saw something - he was broken too. Broken just like she was.
- I am not.
And as she half smiled at him, and their eyes locked and he sent her the smile he knew was her favorite, something felt right again. And it felt right again when he sat down with her.
And maybe, just maybe, they would stop hurting, after all.

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