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at last

the ceiling fan dried out his eyes. the tears that
had stayed with him for months had faded to
nothing but moisture. his skin had soaked up the
hurt. he was only left with salty cheeks and a
weighty heart. he could still feel her spirit
moving around inside of him. every time his
breath left his body.

the empty became more apparent. the silence killed
him. silent. her laughter used to rest in the
gaps where there was silence. her world fell
apart. the pieces of her broken heart were so
minuscule that they could have been passed through
the eye of a needle. and there was no more
laughter. her guitar used to chirp its beautiful
sound right next to his. light hearted.
satisfied. the emptiness consumed her entirely
when she lost loves. one person. then another.
her guitar's beautiful sound became consumed, as
well. it began dripping deep. melancholy. knees-
weak sound. she fell into the sadness. she moved
back home.

chillbumps tightened the skin all over his body. he
rolled over onto his side. the tv hadn't been
turned on in weeks. the radio had been abandoned,
as well. he glanced to the corner of the room
they shared. her guitar next to his. he wouldn't
cry.

"i won't cry," he whispered. "i won't."

he rolled over on his other side and looked at the
wall. his eyes fell closed. before he could fall
into deep sleep, there was a light tap on the
door. two knocks followed by four knocks.
heart falling. two and four meant it was her.

his body fumbled to stand. he almost lost his footing
as he skirred down the stairs. by the
time he'd ripped the chains out of the locks, he
was ready to throw the door off the hinges to get
it open. throat catching, eyes wide, his hand on
his heart. breath slathered in honey.

sun-ripened strawberry hair and sour apple-colored
eyes to match. bags in her arms, stars filling
her eyes.

"are you mine to hold now?" he asked in a whisper.

she nodded.

maybe he would cry after all.

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