Wildflower

They sat in silence.

The rain fell outside, and as they sat next to each other on the edge of the bed they simply looked straight ahead.

There didn't seem to be anything left to say, or at least there was no way to say any of it.

She despised him. She resented him. She was frustrated with his inability to leave her.

He hated her. He wished he could leave her but there was too much, too much had been said, not enough had been said.

She hated him for drawing her in in the beginning. For making her believe that it would work, for making her feel as though it was only her failure that had prevented everything from staying blissful.

He couldn't stand the way she cried. The way she was so unsure. The way she was so delicate. So easily broken.

But all of this had been said many times before. And so they continued in their cycle of frustration.

And so they simply stared at the wall in front of them.

Until finally, she opened her mouth slowly and said,
"Do you remember when we were in love?"

And with that, they began to cry.