Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain.
I want him at the shrinking of the tide.
The old snows melt from every mountainside,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide!
-Edna St. Vincent Millay
The rose-tinted hues of the late autumn sunrise cast a vibrant glow over the Resembool countryside. There was a house, almost hidden amongst the dry grass, that stood alone, its paint paled and chipped from over the years, giving it a lonely, forsaken quality. Through its downstairs windows, a young woman could be seen working at a table, lost in thoughts she only let herself think during her short hours of solitude.
It was easy enough not to dwell on the past during the busy hours of the day. These days, people were flooding through the doors to get their prosthetic limbs fitted and fixed by her capable hands. She had made quite a name for herself in the area, and during those busy hours, she scarcely had time to take a short lunch, let alone allow herself to slip into thought. But during the early hours of the morning and the late hours of the afternoon, when there was nothing left to distract her, she could feel herself dangerously tethering on the edge of thought. Thoughts about him of all things.
For two years he had been out of her life. She had two years to forget about him. That idiot just left without so much as a goodbye. It was selfish and wrong. So why did he continue to haunt her thoughts, reopening the wounds she thought had healed long ago?
Den let out a soft whine as she tightened a screw in his prosthetic front leg. After all she had done, he had left without even a single thank you. As usual. She was definitely over him.
She reached up and brushed her bangs out of her face, heaving a great sigh. Everything had a method to it, you just had to concentrate. If you thought about it hard enough, it would all make sense. That was the secret to her success. She looked harder at Den's auto-mail.
He wouldn't come back this time.
She looked harder at Den's auto-mail.
He was gone.
She looked even harder at Den's auto-mail, but all the lines were beginning to run together and soon she couldn't tell what was what. Everything was blurry and she could no longer distinguish between the parts. It was as though she was looking through water.
He didn't even say goodbye. He didn't care enough to say goodbye. She was through with that bastard. He meant nothing to her.
So then why was she crying?