All Smoke, No Mirrors

He pops in and out, random moments when she least expects. almost like the memory of a deceased loved one. He’s not dead though, just gone. he can be seen sometimes, under the bright lights of a punk rock club or in the warm dark of the boundary. moments of “what could have been” or “what if”. the timeline of their journey together plays in her mind. For a quick second their is insurmountable joy before the crushing sadness of reality. She can still remember exactly what his house looked like.

in that last unknown moment she had jokingly hid a bottle of maple syrup. She never got to tell him she did it and often wonders when he found and if he thought of her when he did. did he smile? she hoped so.

then… it would be gone. the whole memory, until the next time it would play. in that exact sequence, with those exasct feelings. like the slow kiddie rollecoaster that whilefun, as an still didn’t quite go fast enough to make you feel those butterflies in your stomach.

yet still fast enough to cut another string in the disentanglement of Bella and Linus

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