She sees him on the platform. Eyes locking. Smiles. She starts running. Her face against his collarbone, his arms surrounding her, tears pressing against eyelids, his lips on her hair. Unneccessary whispers. Feelings that don't fit inside a human body. Enclosed in an embrace for what seems like forever. A kiss. Walking to his apartment, buying takeaway; no time to cook when skin against skin, thoughts entwined, words exchanged are the only things that matter. Talking, laughing, sleeping.

 

Sharing a cigarette in bed. Two cups of tea, two pb&j's, two glasses of juice. A fuck, a shower, a tv-series. Getting dressed in between kisses and laughs and tickle-fights. Out the door, through the park. Choosing fresh fruits at the square, picking up bread and spaghetti and eggs and bacon at the grocery store, buying a bottle of red wine before turning back home. Fruit salad on his balcony for an afternoon snack. A fuck, a tv-series. A bottle of wine, spaghetti carbonara, and a big fight for dinner. Sleep.

 

She's up before him, walking to the bakery around the corner, coming back with his favourite french roll bread. He's smoking in bed, lost in thoughts, staring out the window. She pours his tea, brings their breakfast on a tray, smiles, takes off her jeans, crawls in under the covers next to him. He turns to her. "I want to break up". Stunned silence. Eyes closing, emotions racing. She calmly gets up from the bed, puts her jeans back on, exists the room, his apartment, his block, his life. Train station. Ticket. Next train home. Holding back tears. Her phone vibrates in her pocket. It's him. No words left. Call cancelled. Relationship cancelled. Fucking everything cancelled.