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It started with that question, in that tone, at that time of the night. He knew something was going to change, but he didn’t know what or how. There had been such times before, preceded by that question, that tone, which gave him that feeling like first days of school. Unease and hopeful curiosity.
……
In the cool morning air, he shrugged his bag further up his shoulder, standing by the road as he had many times before. That same tree of uncertain height that made one conscious of it grazing one’s hair. A cab approached and slowed, anticipating his flagging, All neon and blue cast in orange, coming to a rest in front of him. He hadn’t raised his hand. As he pulled the door shut, the driver glanced back and asked if he was waiting for someone and he had to strain just to say “No.”
……
As he secured the familiar clip of the bracelet she had given him, the same thought came to him as it had many times before; she had once teased him about how he had more accessories than her. This time, the quiet smile to himself was a bittersweet one. This was certainly going to be painful, he thought, as the ring they had bought together followed next.
……
But it had been the best day. One of those that come few and far between. One of those that made the world seem right, motion-picture-perfect. The wind in their faces, the sun turning their faces pink, the colors around them standing out like airbrushed photos. And she looking so good.
Maybe it would indeed be the best day, he prayed.
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O.o
Varcoda 03.20.09 @ 6:35 am