her

may had come. as she knew it would. many years ago, when she was younger and still had lots more of this to learn, she'd already been here. not on these sides of these walls, though, no. not like this. he looked at her. the air was heavier than the silence that day. he'd asked

"what are you thinking?"

"i love you."

"i know"

"yeah."

"i'm sorry i dragged you into this."

"me too."

"but i care about you so much."

"i know."
(she knew)

"will i ever see you again?"

"maybe. someday"
(maybe.)

and it begins. it happens. it loves.

and it leaves.

and they'd hold onto each other, written their own dreams of what ought to had been. where they ought to had gone. where they ought to go. but neither of them knew. she was to be going away for awhile. for at least (at long least) a little while. and maybe...she'd come back, eventually. for she always dies. tangible or not, it didn't matter. for there were more souvenirs than just things they'd buried alongside the shore. there were those that had been buried long before

it happened.

and she'd be gone, just like that. he'd be gone, too. both back their lives they led before, aware of a change they wished never happened. but now it was too late.

"where do you want to be?"

"with you."

"there."

"there."

(he'd look at her...kiss her...hold here close to him, knowing he should let go)

"we'd be in sicily. in that phonebooth i told you about."

"you'd kiss me and tell me something."

"yes. i would."

"know what i'd do?"

"..."

he kisses her.

she fades. into black.