Her hand is in mine and mine in hers.
“One day you’ll cry for me.”
“Bawl your eyes out.” She smiles that lopsided smile of hers.
Her head is on my shoulder.
“When you return one day, with someone else, will you tell her?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Yes. It’ll make her jealous.”
“Ok.” She looks in my eyes, uncertain. Later that evening she whispers three words in my ear before leaving.
It could’ve ended differently, you know.
But she prophesied this herself.
You could’ve been happy.
But I don’t want to be. You see, pain is good.
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