Crossroads

She is standing at a junction when you see her. Her head bounces along to a song you can’t hear and you wonder what songs she sings in the shower these days. She used to joke that singing wasn’t her strong point, but you loved her Sunday night humming against your head, her smile against your mouth, your fingers curled in her dress. 


Her eyes open a little wider when she sees you and then she smiles and gives you a wave. There isn’t much time for talking as you walk past each other and the green man begins to flash. You think her hair looks different, not so much the colour or style, but the way it frames her face. She doesn’t look so girlish when she says hey, and offers you a grin. And when she walks past you, you can’t help but turn back and watch. You wonder who listens to her talk about the stars at night, or who carries her home when she’s drunk. 


Three years ago she said she loved you, and today you almost say it back. 

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