She asked me how I was today, but how could I answer honestly? How could I tell her that my heart broke every time I heard her name? Or that I hadn't washed my sheets since the last time she slept in them because they still smelled like her?
"I'm ok," I lied. She smiled gently. I knew she could see right through me, as she always could.
"I'm sorry," she said for the thousandth time. I nodded.
"I know you are. I am too," I replied. And I knew she could tell I was sincere, just how I could tell she was too. We were still a perfect match, just without the flame. Maybe that's how we were intended to be.
o.a.d
YOU ARE READING
Excerpts from stories I will never write
RandomLittle mismatched pieces of writing I'll never be able to understand, but hopefully you can. No plot, no order, no narrator, just words and feelings.
