Dancing alone to the strains of "Moon River," squeezing under my tiny umbrella while walking home in the rain. Forfeiting entirely and just running, laughing, back.
All these perfect moments. These idyllic, magical, movie-worthy parts. Shouldn't that mean something? Shouldn't it be adding up?
No.
This life thing, this love thing, it's not so cut and dry. There's no time for perfect hair or a musical number. There is a lot of gray area. Sex appeal only goes so far. Talking only goes so far. And no amount of slow dancing in the rain while cherubs play harps in the background is going to change a Lost Cause.
We had a window. We missed it. We're friends.
Sitting next to him now, having him near me, even while I have him so close, makes me sad. I miss our window.
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