It Isn’t Ours (flash fiction)

“It isn’t ours,” she said. “It never was.”

“But it can be.”

Light breaks through the third story window. I look up at it, and I feel her eyes burning through me. I can’t bring myself to return the favor.

“Look at me,” she said.

And I almost do. Instead, I follow the trail of smoke from her lips through the passenger window. It dissipates in the breeze.

“You should stop smoking.” 

“It wouldn’t make a difference,” she said. “You should get back inside.”

“Come with me.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“But what about us?”

“What about us? There hasn’t been an ‘us’ in five years. You’ve built us up as something we never were.”

“Something we never got a chance to be.”

“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean you should stay hung up on it. You need to move on.” She tosses the cigarette from the window, ashes and embers breaking off as it disappears into the darkness. 

Her lips are cold as they press against my cheek. Frigid. I reach for her. Turn toward her.

She’s gone.


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