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~~ chapter 2 ~~
he reread all those letters she had sent him,
and felt a gaping hole somewhere in his chest.
she had her way with words,
as much as she had a way with him.
he blamed himself for so many things —
for telling her a lot of times that he really liked another girl. and how he had secretly expected her to crash and burn or threaten to kill herself or beg him to love her instead.
but she was never any of that,
she never told him she was angry,
she never even asked why.
all she ever said was she wanted him to be happy and she will always be there.
even when he was rough and cold,
even when he had so bluntly told her he did not love her anymore.
and now he missed her,
now he ached to tell her so many things and did not know how to —
that she was who he wanted to share that beautiful sunset view with,
that he wished it was her hand he held while staring at the sea,
that he still thought and dreamt of her and badly wanted to kiss her,
that he was now eager to tell his friends that she was it from the very start,
that he remembered how she always told him he was her poetry,
that he still loved her,
and he never really stopped.
how could he have? when until this day, he could never forget how his heart seized up that night she told him, for the first time, that she loved him too,
and how after that, he was never really the same again,
he had been staring at the window for a long time,
he felt awfully sick, and terrified, and wretched, and miserable.
how could he have let her go?