Hangganan

The news came like your every day coffee–ordinary, dull, expected. “He has already let you go. He has moved on.” She should have seen it coming. The years apart, with just that hope that one of them will go to where the other was at will make the difference, have done their damage. Of course it did not come from him. There is no possibility that he will bring it up, knowing the fact that all these years they only made each feel how they felt through parcels, gifts and/or letters sent back and forth; gifts and letters that said everything except that which they deeply wanted to tell each other.

And here she is now, staring at the open chatbox that delivered the news. He wasn’t the one that told her. It was one of their friends, of course it will never come from him. He will not bring it up. He didn’t owe her any explanation. It was bitter to the taste, looking back to all those years spent waiting but there was some sweetness to it–the sweetness of that relief felt that she didn’t have to wait on him anymore, no more hanging. She can now let go, fall to the ground, stand up and walk forward.

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