"Why, why did you drive to see me?" He asked.
"Because I was already driving." She answered.
"That's not good enough of an answer." He insisted on the truth.
The truth was that this was August 20, the eve of August 21. Two years this time, they met, remet, to be exact. Sparks were flying. She was taken by him. Then something happened.
Something always happened.
He left her, she was left to lick her own wound.
She met someone else, he left her also.
Then again and again.
Sometimes she left them, to be fair.
But he was the one who started it all.
Now she was someone new and he was someone changed. Once uptight and intense, now relaxed and chill. She was, well, she was someone else when he met her. Now she was more of herself, the old self, not the frozen self. The frozen self thawed out, heart was broken and mended, and rebroken and remended. It was just that simple. At the end of the day, she was not alone and he was not alone. They were finally on equal ground.
He grabbed her, rubbed her back, like he always did, he lifted her, cracked her back, dropped her and then kissed her. Just like that, nothing was ever wrong, nothing was ever right. It always started from the beginning and end from where it supposed to start.
When he kissed her she knew why she had to run away from this, and why she had no way of seeing it clear from two years ago. He was really that close to being right for her. She was, really that close to being in danger of losing herself.
The alternative was no better. A man who claimed his love but never delivered. A man who treated her like some used rag. A man who was ultimately not that into her.
Unlike him. He was something different. She always knew. But the timing was always off. She thought.
There was never going to be another.
But he was nicer. Calmer, and he was right. He was always going to be that man who brought her back.
"Because I was already driving." She answered.
"That's not good enough of an answer." He insisted on the truth.
The truth was that this was August 20, the eve of August 21. Two years this time, they met, remet, to be exact. Sparks were flying. She was taken by him. Then something happened.
Something always happened.
He left her, she was left to lick her own wound.
She met someone else, he left her also.
Then again and again.
Sometimes she left them, to be fair.
But he was the one who started it all.
Now she was someone new and he was someone changed. Once uptight and intense, now relaxed and chill. She was, well, she was someone else when he met her. Now she was more of herself, the old self, not the frozen self. The frozen self thawed out, heart was broken and mended, and rebroken and remended. It was just that simple. At the end of the day, she was not alone and he was not alone. They were finally on equal ground.
He grabbed her, rubbed her back, like he always did, he lifted her, cracked her back, dropped her and then kissed her. Just like that, nothing was ever wrong, nothing was ever right. It always started from the beginning and end from where it supposed to start.
When he kissed her she knew why she had to run away from this, and why she had no way of seeing it clear from two years ago. He was really that close to being right for her. She was, really that close to being in danger of losing herself.
The alternative was no better. A man who claimed his love but never delivered. A man who treated her like some used rag. A man who was ultimately not that into her.
Unlike him. He was something different. She always knew. But the timing was always off. She thought.
There was never going to be another.
But he was nicer. Calmer, and he was right. He was always going to be that man who brought her back.
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