She stared at the screen in disbelief. It'd been 3 weeks since she's heard from him and though she'd always had hope, it was dim. A mere flicker in the fog of skepticism.
But still it was hope and there it was staring back at her.
She hated herself for the things she was about to say, the actions she was about to take. But she couldn't help it. It's almost as if he had become her natural instinct, rendering most of her mind helpless and though she knew, she knew deep down it wouldn't turn out the way she had always wanted to see it in her head, she held on to that hope.
It was a white sweatshirt she'd decided to grab. Walking out the doors, the night breeze was sharp against her face and the water sprinklers dampened the hem of her sweatpants. None of it bothered her. Each step she took closer towards him was another inch deeper of that knife plunging into her chest. The truth was, she was bleeding all over but she couldn't help it. Hope, remember? She still lived, though barely, through shortened gasps of air and a blurred vision, she still held on.
At the intersection of Baseline and 30th, she stood in between the shadows of mighty trees with broad leaves and giant trunks. And then, there he was, just like she remembered him to be. His ripped t-shirt hung loosely upon his slouched shoulders and he walked with a certain charming drag at his feet. Then there was that blue cap, that blue cap that was always there. He'd always had it on, since the first day she saw him. He wore it with his checkered shirt, he wore it without a shirt. And she had always wanted to tell him how that cap brought out the brightest of his eyes.
She'd just wanted to grab his hand and lace her fingers in between his. She saw the excitement he had for the night but instead they lingered on in front of the towers, the street lights casting their shadows on the pavement and her voice, almost inaudible and broken and his, disappointed.
She didn't know how was she supposed to watch him walk away the same way she saw him walk to her. So she stood there, a foot from him, staring down at the fine lines that the cement left on the walkway. She knew she was losing him with every second that passed by. And so instead of watching him walk away, she walked with him; one last time.
When she was there, she took everything in. The feel of his pillow against her head, the sound of his breath when he was lying, the warmth of his skin, the dim of his room, the scent of his sheets. the rasp of his voice. All the tiny details that she had always found beautiful above everything else.
And when it was late and she couldn't take it anymore, she crawled out from under the covers and forced indifference to mask the pain that had inevitably swallowed her once again. She walked out of the door and into the cold, her hands deep in the pockets of her sweatshirt and forced the tears out of herself, anything to ease the damage that's been done.
At least, she walked away. And that hope...burned out.