Looking at her cellphone, you can see the accumulation of messages that she had failed to clear.
They were the memories that she refused to let go, even when she had given up on herself completely. The messages were mostly from him, with the exception of a scatter of humorous one-liners from a handful of friends. She didn't have many, not really, and most wanted to argue that the reason she had been so attached was because she didn't have that much to do or that many people to be with, but I knew it was a different issue. I knew because I knew her, knew her well, as if she had been myself, though it was really the other way around.
One of our friends once said to her, ah it is the saddest thing to be left behind, and neither she or I really believed it at the time. People eventually move on, we argued, and at the time it really seemed like an idea in which we strongly believed, but in the end she really couldn't -- and neither did he (in a way) -- as I came to learn. And thus the two of them remained -- in that state of misery, along with the love and bitterness they shared. The only difference was that ... he was the only one left behind.
請先 登入 以發表留言。