He steps forward, hand heavy as he brushes away a loose strand.
She stands, battling her heart and mind.
Both gaze at one another with wide eyes, knowing what the other has to do.
But is it really?
"We could run away." He suggests for the thousandth time, waiting for the thousandth answer.
But she doesn't give her answer. Instead,
But she doesn't give her answer. Instead, She smiles.
Her hand reaches up, fingering a stray curl across his forehead.
"You made the wrong choice. And now you have to live with that."
The words echo, the image of her blurring as reality sets in.
His stale, permanently stained alcoholic breath materializes in the freezing weather.
People walk past, ignoring his presence. Knowing he's just the scum of the earth.
And boy, they aren't wrong.