It was such a long time ago.
Such a very long time ago.
Yet for some reason she had still believed she would know the way.
As though she would remember the path that she had taken over and over when drunk, in the middle of the night, surrounded by people she hadn't known hours before but were now her best friends.
But it was daylight and it was years later and nothing looked the same.
Was that always a carpark?
Were the buildings those shops stood in new?
Was that where they had kissed?
Was this the corner where he had asked her where she was staying that night?
Were these the steps they had taken, talking and laughing, get to know one another more intimately after months of flirting with one another?
She scolded herself for being ridiculous.
She hadn't thought about him in a long time but she was single and lonely and the rose tint on her memories of that brief moment in history were so intoxicating at moments like this.
Almost as intoxicating as the alcohol they had drunk or the butterflies in her stomach.
They were so different and if it had lasted any longer, those differences would have torn them asunder anyway. Or she would have ended up altering her basic nature to fit his more closely. She hated knowing how true that was.
But my god, with a notebook full of ideas from him, it was hard not to want to reach for his hand when lost.


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Tommy-Louise (joined almost 12 years ago)
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The loud chick in the corner.

With the big eyes.

And the notebook in her bag.

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Creative Commons Attribution 3.0


Lost, without a hand to hold.
Prompt suggested by b23cml


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