There was a time she desperately wished that he would rescue her.
She was inside of unhappy, waiting to be pulled from it by something other than herself.
He never rescued her.
She escaped only when she thought that she might irreparably break.
But he called occasionally, just to stir her memories.
Of course, she was already broken by the time she left and she slowly started to rebuild.
He would drop a quick note.
She hoped the painful pace of recovery was a phase, just temporarily impaired happiness.
He was apologetic but sometimes these things happened.
She wasn’t bound to anything unhappy anymore – but she hovered near it anyway.
He said less, incompletely and euphemistically. 

And then she stopped trying altogether, and settled into unfinished happiness.



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