Who were you, anyway?

[holly_evolving]

*she's standing on a hilltop, wind whipping through her hair. the notebook full of all the thoughts she wanted to share with him is clutched to her chest. she looks down at it, watches a tear or two blur the words he'll never read. the sun is setting livid and low; the sky high overhead is gray. she's a sketch in color pencil as she tears out the pages and lets them blow away on the wind. this is good-bye. she whispers, "oh, there you are," one last time, and walks home, crying.*

My heart hurts, and it's entirely my fault. I always take too long to say, "I'm sorry." Maybe admitting this will make me feel better. Whether it does or no, I had to.