Ever since that day and ever since her rainboots left my door for the last time my heart has made this creaking noise with each thump. At some point a heartbeat becomes unhealthy when you live without love to pump through it. And when she left every emotion except sadness was drained out of my body. Every day I think about what would've happened if she'd stayed. What would have become of what we are...what we were. But she left and now I am a drone. An emotionless drone who walks alone in the mornings to his ex's favorite coffee shop. A lost soul who wishes to find love again but never tries. Because I have this thing in my mind that makes me think she'll come back. I want her to come back. I want her to come back with her love of knitting. And her little quirks like taking the toast of out the toaster with a knife. Which in heinsight seems dangerous. But she's not dead. Just gone. But it seems like she's dead. Because she won't come back. She won't come back and you know that, Harry. Why do you keep thinking she will? Why do you keep talking to yourself in the third person? Harry doesn't know. There I go again. Every night I go and get wasted. Every night I come home empty handed. Every night I cry myself to sleep and prance through dreams of her and of us and what we were and what we never will be again. I love her. But I let it slip through my fingers. I let everything get tangled and the knots were so impossible not even the greatest Eagle Scout could untie them. And the mountains of problems I made were so rigid that she fell every time she tried to help me. And every time she she fell, I pushed her down further. It was my fault. And now those rainboots that made splashes in my front corridor every morning after our coffee route are rainboots I will never see again.
