The Unhappy Story
“Tell me a story.” My voice came out weak and feeble.
“What kind of story?”
“A love story.” I could his feel his eyes on me, but I didn’t dare look at him, knowing that if I did, I would instantly forgive him for everything, which wasn’t what he deserved.
He glanced up, feeling the rain on his face for the first time. “Well, I could tell you one, but it wouldn’t compare.”
“Compare to what?”
“Living in it.”
I looked into his eyes, so he could see the dagger he had just put into my heart with those words.
“A love story shouldn’t consist of lies, betrayals, and schemes. You played me for a fool.”
“Only for a fool in love, just like I am.”
He reached for my hand, but I recoiled from his touch.
“Then this story ends here, with an unhappy ending.”
“No, this is just the beginning. We are just beginning,” he said with a pleading look.
“I’m afraid we’re on the wrong page, in fact, I think we’re in separate books.” With that I walked away, aware that he was witnessing the moment where I walked out of his life forever.