Her, I and Us

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
She's that girl you know deep down you will one day meet but will one day get away from you. No matter who you are, no matter how you look or what charisma you paint your portrait with...everybody has the one that got away.

Submitted: January 22, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 22, 2012




Strawberries’ scent wandered wistfully up my nose and I sighed contentedly as she concurred in my arms. The question had not really been a question at all, more of a statement, because I already knew the answer; yes.

I squeezed her closer to me, my arms wrapped around her stomach, pressing it in with just enough pressure to allow her to realise just how much she meant to me. Just enough to tell her that with each coming day came a burning desire to be with her, to kiss her, to cuddle her…

It was one of those rare occasions where words just cannot describe my feelings. But then, words never really could describe her, not in the way that she deserved. The train rattled beneath us, above us, around us. Where we were going, neither of us knew. All I cared about was feeling her warmth and understanding her scent. The curve of her neck was irresistible, but not sensual; not that day. No; her skin was no less smooth as the day that I had met her, but I wanted nothing more than to pause this moment, so that I might just be able to play it on a large television when I found myself longing for her. Because I knew that day, as I knew every time I saw her, that after we parted ways I would long for her.

Her jumper rose and fell as she stared out of the window, a contemplative gesture of which nobody would ever be able to understand; not truly. The world rushed by us, and I found myself marvelling at what a perfect metaphor that was for “us.” The world rushed by, but we were completely content in our bubble of sighs and kisses. I was unaware of anything but her touch, and she was unaware of anything but my nose, nuzzling into her gorgeous hair.

But soon the train stopped, and I had no other choice but to let her go. A flurry of doors opening and bag-grabbing followed. Our hands touched each others for a moment, but I knew deep down, past the place where my heart should have been, that she longed to be away from here.

“Yes.” She whispered behind tears. And left.



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