We both sipped our coffee, daintily at first as if not to disturb the silence even though our eyes seemed to be screaming at each other. My eyes became addicted to their reflection in the irises of another. But now, my eyes are only tortured with the memory that sneakily escapes and rolls down my cheek. I hopelessly wish the droplets would extinguish the consuming inferno you lit. Your name sits on the same tongue that was scorched by your lips and words. The same tongue that will swallow scotch to help forget the name you placed there. Now I sit, earphones in but no music being played, isolated with the defeating realization of the terrible romance that had occurred when I chose you over me. Fairytales do not exist. Sometimes we die without conclusion; fulfillment, sequel, or point. Similarly to what I've written.
