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Getting the Picture
The cool night air breathed through my jacket as I open up the door of the car.
He was there.
I could see his back clearly through the glass doors to the lobby. Five feet and eleven inches of charm with his hands so casually placed in the front pockets of his jeans. That was when my heart dropped and the wind whipped my hair against my face in an outrage of mocking laughter.
He was here, but so was someone else.
She stood close to him. Filling the five feet and four inches next to him with the true definition of natural beauty. Her skinny jeans hugged her shapely legs and a long golden ponytail graced the small of her back. So effortless. I bit my lip on silent protest.
They looked so comfortable. He lifted his shoulders slightly in that way that he always does when he is telling a story. Letting them sink down again as he finished. She tilted her head to the side as he spoke, taking his words in. It was as if they had always known each other. Actually, it was as if they always told each other stories, and she always wore his clothes and they always stood side by side like this.
We’d been friends for how long now? Eleven months? Was that not long enough for him to tell me he had a girlfriend? Was it not long enough for him for him to give me any idea that he had someone else on his mind? Yet maybe I was the one to blame. I should’ve known that a boy as good as him wasn’t single. I should’ve known that his charming ways belonged to someone else.
I closed the car door and took a step towards the glass entry way. I would smile like always, I would ask her polite questions, I would hold my head high, and I would convince him that I had no idea the fool that I’d been.
Oh to think that he would ever have been mine.
The stars stopped to watch and the wind held back it’s breathe as I opened the glass door and headed toward the couple standing in the lobby.
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