“She is a friend of my mind. She gathers me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order. It’s good, you know, when you got a woman who is a friend of your mind.”

Sixo, Beloved by Toni Morrison.

the words she longed to hear didn't belong to any spoken language; they began in his eyes, were fulfilled with his kiss, and resonated in her bones as he held onto her as if she were his only lifeline.

LOST.

the wind nips at her toes as they dangle perilously in the air. her long hair is blown into a scattered mess, covering her face as she looks out into the distance. red and blues and pinks and oranges, they all blend together in ways that are beautiful and peaceful and dangerous.

her sigh is lost in the breeze as darkness threatens to blanket the world. she doesn't know what to think anymore, which is why she's where she is - in her metaphorical limbo.

she knows what she did was right, but that doesn't make it any bit more tolerable. falling back, she gazes uncertainly up at the purpling sky as if it could tell her the answers to all over her questions.

but, of course and as always, it can't and she ends up closing her eyes and seeing his face with those eyes and those lips and that hair. she pictures his smile and his ears and the goofy way his face scrunched when he was concentrating. she sees the look he gave her when she was doing something goofy and the one that said 'i love you' in a way that words always failed to say it in. she hears his laugh as clear as ever and his voice is as present as if he was standing behind her.

she remembers those days where she and him were so wrapped up in each other and the summer heat and newfound freedom and perfection that the time slipped away before they could ever realize it was there. she hasn't forgotten his words and his promises and their comfortable silence. memories of the way he felt and the way they fit and the feel of his hands haunt her almost daily.

she misses all of it.

she sits up again as the sound of footsteps sounds in the distance. she thinks about his lies and his choice and the consequences. she reminds herself that his hands aren't hers anymore and that she wouldn't want them anyway after what he's done. she remembers the spilled secrets and cruel jokes and new personality - the things she wouldn't deal with.

she snatches her feet back from the ledge as the sun disappears below the horizon with its last tribute to color. she stands up and she walks away, not even pausing as he made to stop her.

if only starting over were as easy as walking away.