"Tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too."

“Come here”, he said and pulled her close. 

Theirs had been a roller coaster ride. A ride which has had more than its fair share of downs; one whose designer has been too gracious and humble to defy gravity.  They had not spoken, written for ages. Like a wildfire something had erupted between them a long time ago.

She looked at him, looking for something, what? She wasn’t too sure. She had practiced things to say, things to do. She had planned to hit him,accuse him, chide him…

Nothing existed now. Like the remains of that burnt forest, some things reminded them of a seemingly happier wistfulness. There was nothing, not even nostalgia. 

She looked for lust, there was none… He seemed too pure, too fragile almost.

She looked for love, there was none… Hadn’t she lost that bet before, lost many a times over?

There had been fights over the acceptance. There had been fights over non-acceptance. There had been fights over reluctance and fights over the ensuing indifference. They fought in silence. Yes, there never was too much noise. 

She was weary of looking.

He gave her another tug and she held him.

She held him tight. 
She held him like there was no tomorrow and wept. 

“Come here”, he had said when he pulled her close. 

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...Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky...

-Pablo Neruda. 

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