12-TYLS-05

A cacophony of sound, dulled by her thoughts; a tiny section of mist among the fog. Among all the people there. He was, too. He was back. Everything was pain, but her lips injected mirth into each conversation, each touch of the couples surrounding her, each glance he gave from by her side. He had chosen his place there, but he had not chosen her, when she had begun to slip so willingly, so ignorantly into his arms-length embrace. Which, as it turns out, was not a particularly warm one. Not as made for her as they had perhaps both thought. As made for her as she herself had certainly thought, and he had imagined could be. There were no word