"Anyway, goodnight, man," He said, so casually I could hardly bare it.
I stuttered and all that came out of my mouth was a hoarse whisper: "Yeah, man. G'night."
I watched him walk off down my road, cigarette in one hand and his pride firmly in the other. I had missed my chance.
Suddenly the sky looked cracked and jilted, the pavement broken, the way it had always been and they way I always failed to notice.
I was so embarrassed, shamed, torn. The blood was still racing through me, pumping so fiercely I thought I might murder someone.
I took a last deep breath before entering my house and suddenly felt a sense of freedom, like I was grateful that Tom had walked away.
Love has many ways of trapping a person. It can dress itself up as majestically as it pleases, but underneath, love will always be a grey, lonely, ubiquitous feeling.
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