She was a poetic tradgedy. I almost felt bad for her, she was gorgeous, and sometimes, pretty and sad should not go together. She had a habbit of leaving, and he had a habbit of not chasing her. I could see through her angel lips, right to the bite marks on her tongue. What could she possibly rather fix, then whats going on now? I could see her look to him, for comfort, acceptance, love. And i could see him turn away. Was she burnt out? Or did she somehow manage to fade away in between it all?
She walked over and sat down, a few seats from me. I noticed a red umbrella in her bag, tough judging my her soaked cargo pants and tank top, she had not opened it. She was most likely taking refuge under this roof too, waiting for the downpour to cease.
I spoke to her, my voice cracking. "Waiting for the storm to pass?"
She smiled, "Aren't we all?"