There is no worst feeling then a feeling of cold where you should feel warm, she thought.
It wasn’t that “hand” that was ripping her chest open, it was coldness where she should feel warmth. Inside of her and on her lips in a morning when he is leaving.
It was always like that, as if they had a pact. She was leaving, she kissed him, he was leaving, he kissed her. Simple, so simple.
She felt his pain, so profoundly. She breathe it within herself. And she wanted to touch him, just to make that soft skin-to-skin connection, so he could feel HER warmth, so he could feel she was there for him. He rejected it. Not because he hated her, no, but because he couldn’t feel. He shut down for everything, including her too.
On a first instinct she wanted to flee from that battlefield, but then again, that would made her even greater coward, so she did what she was doing so far. She stared and cried, making a vow to herself that she will confront him.