A symphony of awkward silences orchestrate a merry-go-round of melodies ever so tenderly.
Three months ago, he would be tracing his fingers along the small of her back. She would nestle herself in one swift jigsaw move, to discover the infatuation personified in his embrace.
"You are all my Christmases."
He always so effortlessly elevated her to the lofts of perfection. His words of adulation read like poetry.
And poetry was her ultimate Achilles. The spin he charmed her with gave her love and light, breaking down the walls she had built in the wake of her previous heartbreak. He unravelled her with every word giving her a glimmer of hope that perhaps one day when he wasn't 4300km apart they could be together again.
They were defined by a summer romance so intensely profound but fleeting all the same.
Three months later, the bench is frosted with the seaside midnight air. It is crisp and it pinches, startling her, as she gregariously settles down next to him.
The murmur of evening fishermen inspires him to break the awkward silence.
"I'm not worth your thoughts anymore."
"Our time together was great and it was amazing, but I was in the moment."
He senses two once-idyllic forces opposing one another. He knows they both want different things but he is no longer what she deserves.
"I wake up and want to do so many things. I'm fickle, I'm selfish, I can't offer you stability."
She feels her heart stop for a second. She let him in, she gave him everything, she was the one who was supposed to change him. She could have easily loved him all her life if he had simply liked her back. But clearly, she never had his heart and they were never meant to be.
"Forget about me... and us."
"Even if I had stayed... we wouldn't have lasted anyway."
Without a doubt he had an innate ability to know exactly how to twist the knife.
'Forgetting' meant disregarding the amount of times he told her she was the one and only. How many times did he tell her she was unlike any other girl he knew; and how often did his lips find his way in the nape of her neck late at night?
Clearly, none of this mattered to him anymore. She couldn't comprehend how swiftly he could forget all of it. Did he not mean a word of the amorous things he used to say to her?
The passionate embraces, the charismatic serenading, the sweeping-off-her-feet, the way they used to melt. The times they sat on the end of a jetty, losing themselves in each other, until dusk beckoned. Was it really that unforgettable?
Because you told her that day underneath the timber steps that you could never forget the first time you saw her walk into the room. The way she sent you weak at the knees with her beautifully enigmatic presence. You convinced her to subsist on imagining life together, that forever was foreseeable. She gave you everything and in return you didn't even have the balls to fulfill the least of all your futile promises.
Do you remember that night you looked her in the eye and promised you would do everything in your power not to hurt her?
So you need not call her anymore. Don't tell her you miss the sound of her voice. Don't tell her she is the most beautiful person you know. Don't promise her a spot on your couch for her. Don't write a song about her and pretend you meant every single word. Don't you dare come back and lie to her face ever again. And don't you dare fool yourself into thinking that this meant nothing to you.
She deserves so much better than you.
He stuffs his hands deep into his pockets, nonchalant of the inconsolable misery he has inflicted on her. A girl who was never able to take off her rose-coloured glasses is now one filled with profound bitterness, beguiling the sweetness that once defined her.
Screw you.
She is done writing this chapter. He no longer deserves any part of her. She catches herself from despair, hits the pavement, and keeps walking.
Thank you for finally giving her a reason to get over you.
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