|The Princes and the Frog--Pokemon style|
'cause that's how I roll, yo.
Two summers have passed since then. She still doesn’t know what he meant. It had never happened; the clingy-ness he had warned her about, along with a number of things they said that they had both since forgotten. Echoes of it still linger in the recesses of her memory.
She could unearth them. Dig up the letters and reread them while her heart sank heavily in her chest. It was unfair of her to try to remember what he had forgotten. After all, she had forgotten too, hadn’t she?
Maybe he was just that good at holding it back. He was also pretty good at subconsciously making her feel left-out. It wasn’t on purpose—at least, she hoped it wasn’t.
Her pen slips from her cold, weak fingers and she mutters a curse as it drops to the floor with a loud clatter. Sorry, she mumbles to a nearby co-worker, who smiles reassuringly at her before going back to work. She should, too. She really should. Her boss passes by the cubicles and catches her eye. He smiles at her, that same reassuring smile her co-worker gave her, and she smiles nervously back, before turning immediately to look at her screen.
She no longer writes. She can no longer write. Not as well as she thought she could, anyway. The hollow space has taken the feeling from her fingers, and her brain has gone numb. Every word seemed like a desperate, panicked fumble. Every sentence sounded clumsy and distraught, the words didn’t seem to fit together anymore. Not as well as they did, anyway, when she wrote them, two summers ago.
He shouldn’t have warned her about his clingy-ness. She had expected it, and there was none.
Nothing but this hollow feeling and an echo of some of the happiest moments she had ever spent in front of the screen.
|Er. Let me get back to you on that one.|