Traffic lights bleed into astigmatized flashes of light as he aimlessly drives through town, one hand lazily hung over the top of the steering wheel as his windshield wipers work to clear the rain soaking his car. Thunderous rumbles of the angry clouds looming overhead sends flashes of electricity through the sky, lighting up the darkness every now and then.
It was like the universe could sense his somber mood, another restless night where he couldn't get his mind off of you. Sometimes he still felt like he could smell your perfume in his sheets or feel the soft drag of your nails down his back when he woke in the morning, his apartment void of the warmth you once filled it with.
Haunted by the sound of your laughter and the moans hushed against his ear when he had you under him, a cruel reminder of what he's lost; and would likely never get back. It was a sick joke played on him, your lasting imprint staining his consciousness in a never ending loop of emotional misery.
Constantly hovering, never letting him move on.
Other girls couldn't curb the emptiness lost in his chest cavity, mindless hookups designed to give him momentary release, only for him to get home and feel even worse. The fight you both had before you left plays on a loop in his head when he finds himself unable to sleep most nights, tracing the shadow of the perpendicular window rails elongated across the ceiling, the moonlight always seeming to cast his room in an bitter glow.
He's not sure why he finds himself turning into your neighborhood, a subconscious thought that has his pulse thundering, the growing need for you finally sinking into his brain. A realization that he wasn't ready to lose you.
Not yet.
Your car is parked in the driveway, the familiar sight so domesticated it brings a pang to his chest, something so comforting and familiar about an object he can associate you to. As if you weren't just a distant memory locked away in the inner depths of his head, a ghost of the person he had once been in love with.
He's immediately soaked when he gets out of his car, unsure what he's actually going to say when he sees you; or if you would even give him a chance to speak before slamming the door on his face. He traverses the slick stairs with heavy footsteps, his head ducking under the awning as he shivers, a cold hand raised to knock on the door.
Once, twice, three times his knuckles rap the door before he shoves them in his pockets, stiffening extremities becoming almost painful with the bitter night chill. He rocks forward onto his toes anxiously, unsure of you're even awake at this ungodly hour.
Seconds seem to drag forever as he waits, a pent up breath escaping his lips as he hears the locks slowly turning, his eyes widening as he's met with the sight of you after so many months. He's momentarily in shock, his heart lodging in his throat as a stuttered noise escapes his throat, his heart pounding as you stare at each other for what feels like eternity.
"Why are you here?"
Your voice sends a painful jolt right into his heart, having almost forgotten how it sounded; so soft and feminine, yet so raw and tangible, filling the stale air as he blinks. It has his head turning over his shoulder as he gazes at his parked car, his eyes finding yours again as a sigh trembles from his lips.
"I haven't been able to stop thinking about you."
The conversation is held between your screen door, a physical barrier that represents the emotional distance between the two of you. It makes his eyes soften, silently pleading with you as he meets your weary gaze, arms crossed over your chest.
You sigh, relenting once again as you open the last barrier between the both of you, his eyes seemingly glued to yours, unable to look away; afraid that if he did, you'd disappear into thin air. You step aside without another word, the warmth of your home easing the ache in his cold bones, his eyes flickering around the familiar space.
