He asked me if after all this years I still remembered his favourite number. Just that. A simple question that involved a much deeper meaning. Because of course I remembered that little piece of him, but said It aloud would have implied that I still remembered all of him. He knew It, and that’s why he had that confident smile all over his face. He was playing as innocent, but all his demons were there with him. And so were mine. It was an unpronounced battle between us. Another one. And our weak future was behind enemy lines trying to survive. We had been playing this same game a million times before. And I had fallen on my knees, defeated, every single time.
I don’t know why sometimes we get used to that kind of pain. Maybe because we have a little hope that the next time will be different. That at the end love will conquer everything. I know that our kind of love never succeeds. But how do you explain that logical reason to an irrational heart?
What hurt me the most was that I knew my heart couldn’t hold It much longer. I should have upped my defences and run away while I could. I should have stopped that sick game. But deep in my soul I knew that was the last time we would be that close, breathing the same aire, wishing the same happy ending. So I wasn’t prepared to let him go yet.
That was why I was still there, hoping the enemy fire didn’t burn me too much, wishing that somehow we could get through all our mistakes and start over one more time.