Monday, May 4, 2009


It was in moments like this that she missed him. In the quiet times, when she sat alone, were the times when she wished the most that he was only a phone call away. She didn't miss the cold stare of his disengaged eyes, or the swelling insecurity that seemed to strangle her in those last days; but she missed the tone of his voice over the tiny speaker when they were apart, his hand over hers when they were together.
What lingered even more, however, was the hurt and resentment which settled over her memories like a fine layer of dust. She could no longer even be certain of those fleeting, happy moments; she couldn't be sure how far is his lies had infiltrated into his actions, words, kisses.

Everything seemed like a lie now, and she missed when he was everything. She missed when he was anything...

1 comment:

  1. great writing and the pics go perfectly with it