It's been months since he saw her face, all those months, he forgot the beautiful detailing in her face.
He stands there, watching her talk while the sun hits directly towards her face, her long curls lays over her shoulders, she looked so soft.
He forgot that she could see him, she peeks over to him, and their eyes connect, those green eyes sparkled, her cheeks began to turn red.
He quickly looks down to his feet, while putting his hands in his pockets, he looks back up to her and she's still staring.
Her stomach begins to tie up into knots. She wants to talk to him, but at the same time, she wants nothing to do with him.
What he put her through, those months of therapy sessions and crying late those nights, she'll never forget.
Seeing him be have been a relief, but it reminded her of the face that lies.
It was all a lie.
He's a lie.
YOU ARE READING
Ultraviolent: Short Stories
Nouvelles"He hit me and it felt like a kiss, I can hear violins, violins Give me all of that ultraviolence."
