She sat at the window, looking out, thinking of how things changed. The gentle wind caressing her curly hair locks. She thinking of her love, her only love, not first but true love. The other side, he rested on his bed. He had nothing else but her memories to think about. He looked at their pictures, the only essence of happiness she left behind in his life. She found herself smiling at the stupid memories he gave her. He frowning at the bad experiences he believed to give her. She having tears in her eyes but a smile on her lips. He pressed the photo frame against his chest every time he missed her. Love had not died yet.
She wanted everything to be fine, knowing nothing could be the same again. He wanted everything to be fine, not knowing what to do. She wipes her tears. He lets the tears flow. She smiles at the stupid messages he had sent her. He sends those messages hoping things get better between them. She replies rudely, pretending the cute him didn’t affect her at all. He tries hard. Love is still alive.
She looks at him. He looks at her. She avoids an eye contact. He wants an eye contact. She doesn’t, fearing she will fall for him, again. He does because he has always loved her. She misses him. He misses her. She has it in her heart for him. He too does, maybe.
“There were things he wanted to tell her.
There were things she wanted to tell him.
But they bury it away and sew their lips.
Hiding the love in their eyes.”