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He sat there quietly.


Slowly she walked into the room, as she did almost daily now. Had he been in possession of one, he was certain that his heart would be rushing about madly as if late for an appointment. The room contained no windows, one door that she had carefully closed and locked behind her, and a chair. She curled into the chair after plucking a book from the shelves. He could not see the title of it before she opened it and placed it in her lap – it was something about shadows, about gods.

He sat there, doing nothing more than watching her. Occasionally he would brush past her ear, whispering something so sweet and so soft that it was lost in-between, never making it to the destination he so deeply desired.

Once, a few days prior, she had unknowingly looked at him straight in the eye and had sighed. She would never know what that had done to him; he had left then, angry with himself and the world for the way that it was.

He would have traded his soul to be able to touch her, even if just the once. But, that was a hope that was long gone now. So he sat there just watching, aching deep down in places that he had forgotten.

She sat there, wrapped up in herself and turning page after page, escaping a reality that she never wished to be her own. After some time, her eyes closed heavily; the book tumbled from her fingertips and landed on the floor to display a page that spoke only of death. He laughed, it seemed so morbidly fitting as he turned the page in hopes that her slumber brought nothing but joy.

She saw him there, standing just out of reach; her heart egging her on in a tormenting way and her brain showing her that it would be silly to even try. Looking at him, they never once spoke a word. He smiled, and she fell. She did not even know his name, let alone that he was even in existence.

He loved her deeply; he would never touch her, all her life.