Like polar opposites she and Winter were.
Winter was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Moths are stupid. Even after getting burnt again and again, they come back to that beautiful, blinding fire.
Time and time again, Winter would tell me:
" She's perfect. She's just too good to be true. "
Everything about her was perfect.
"Her smile."
"Her laugh."
"Her dimples."
"Her small hands."
"Her—" whatever.
It bothered me. It bothered me that Winter could only see those "perfections", when it was so clear that she was flawed—that she had flaws.
I can see your flaws, Winter, so why can't you see hers?
Maybe you can. Maybe her flaws make her all the more perfect to you.
Every time you opened your mouth to talk to me, it was about her.
And yet, I still wanted to talk to you. Even if all you ever talked about was her.
YOU ARE READING
Winter, was it?
Short Story[2nd place in the Melancholy Awards] And just like that, Winter had ceased to be a part of my life. " They say the mind may, but the heart never forgets. " ©2017 MINHTEA
