They had bumped into each other 3 years later after their break-up, randomly at a park. He had blamed himself for how messed up she turned out to be. But it wasn’t him. It was everything.
“How have you been?” he ask, looking at her weary, aware of all her movements.
“I’m okay, I’ve seen better days. How about you? How’s your family?” she says, flicking the cigarette to the floor.
He tried to hold it together. She never had smoked while they were together. He blamed himself more because he knew she wasn’t like this.
“Is this my doing?” he ask.
They had always been blunt with one another. She knew what he was asking, about the cigarette.
“No. Nothing is your doing. You need to understand that before you I was fucked up. All the years of grief and pain aren’t your doing. Everything that’s happened to me isn’t your fault. I can’t hide it anymore though. My heart hurts all the time. After you, all the years of my life consumed me. A person like me doesn’t understand happiness when happiness is taken away so young. So this” she says pointing at her heart and pointing at the cigarette “is years of shitting pain.”
They both stared at one another for a while and she walked away not knowing when there would be a next time with him. When maybe they would speak or see one another. Maybe she would apologize next time.
Just a little note that what I wrote is from two characters that I’ve been thinking about lately. I’ll write their full story one day.