It was the last time she was going to see him, or rather, stalk him. She had promised herself that.
As she entered his name in the search box she secretly prayed to encounter an error. She secretly wished that he had blocked her because she didn’t know if she had the strength to look at his pictures, for the last time.
She promised herself 5 minutes and as the profile opened, she prayed to not see a picture of him and his love. It would tear her apart to see him with someone, in the place she had been a week ago, before he let her go.
There were recently uploaded pictures on the account, and exactly what she dreaded.
The picture came across the screen and there were her worst fears, all in front of her eyes.
She could feel this lump in her throat and soft sobs in her chest. It was just a week ago that she held his hand and they made love. She could feel pain in her chest, slight but unnerving, as if her heart ached. Through the billions of arguments, she knew the feelings he had for her were real. But seeing him move on, and in seven days, she knew it was an illusion, just an episode.
All along she believed the love was real and to have your only consolation broken down into a million fragments, that shook her.
With a last look at the picture, his wide smile that stopped her heart each time, she closed his profile.
That night she went to bed with a heavy heart.
Now she needed to move on, because love as the wise say, isn’t about conquering.
She needed to move on in seven days, the way he did.
(Wrote this in under 3 minutes and publishing a crude form of it. But I think that’s how it needs to be.)
28-01-2015