Never a Next Time



It wasn’t always this gray. Choices used to be black and white. It used to be her or something else.


He tells himself over and over and over again. Every time we try to fix our friendship, we end up hurting each other. The damage done overweighs the good. Yet, the impact they had on each other was greater than any one had ever imagined. Greater than either one thought was possible.


Time was the only physician. Though, they seemed so eager to mend a friendship that time was taken advantage of. Rushing it was like a bomb waiting to detonate. Happening at its own leisure, unbeknownst to either parties.


They settle into the driver and passenger seats respectfully and laugh at some old sarcastic remark she made the first moments of their friendship. He looked at her and laughed as they drove through the hustle and bustle of rush hour. They tried to linger in the moment. Holding on as if there wouldn’t be a next time.


Because it always seemed as if there was never a next time.


Love,

Cheya

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