She was really sad. She didn’t know why exactly. Maybe she was realizing how much time she lost to being sad. She still thinks of how it ended, that it still colors her relationships, oh yes, and she still worries if some happinesses are too good to be true. Her heart still feels as if a hundred knives are slicing it to pieces. Does love last? Her heart replies ‘no’. Her brain says nothing, it doesn’t have any evidence to the contrary. I mean, if love lasts why did he throw her heart against the window, smashing glass as he goes? And why did he leave her to pick up the shards with her shaky hands?
If love lasts, why is she no longer in love? Why does she no longer know him? Why does he feel like a stranger in a familiar body? And yet, why doesn’t she recognize his hands?
If he touched her now, she doesn’t know if it would feel like fire or ice. Maybe both. Maybe neither.