Sip by Sip

Chapter Fifty-Four: Old Shoes

    "So she's gonna be fine?" Gemma clarified cheerfully. Friday had started out wonderfully the minute he arrived to the shop with the good news.

    "Yeah." He smiled back at her, yet his smile faltered as he pulled something out of his pocket. "I've . . . uh, been getting letters from Juliana."

    Her expression saddened. "Well you didn't resolve anything with her, you only resolved something with yourself."

    He laughed softly, "You sound like some wise, pretentious poet or a crap-filled spiritual advisor."

    "I'm being serious."

    "I know," He assured her, "I was . . . It was a joke."

    "Let me see these letters." He handed the two to her, along with the three notes he had found on his bed. She read through them, until she reached the letter he had received that morning.

    "Do you remember when we met? Obviously you do. You wouldn't forget. But then again, we both forgot our love somewhere along the way here . . . wherever here is. So maybe you did. Doesn't matter. I just want to know what changed, from that day to now. Maybe we just wore our love down, like old shoes. Shoes we'll always be found of, but shoes we can no longer wear.
    Slowly understanding, but not liking what I have understood- Once Yours."

    He frowned as Gemma read it aloud, as he eerily agreed with her words. She gave him a look of startling sorrow, pity.

    "You need to talk to her, Noah. You need to let her know how you feel, so you can both finally let go." She said solemnly. But after a moment of thought, she smiled, and in an attempt to lighten the mood, "That time I heard it."

    "Heard what?"

    "The pretentious poet."