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The arc of the moonlight was catching in his eye. He was ending everything -- all the plans, all the possibilities. But for that second, she heard nothing, and imagined peace. It would all cease being imaginary in but one terrible, horrible second. But for now, just the brightness of a crescent moon in the eye of a man she loved.
How many days now... 63 until he left. The day he moved out, she booked a flight home immediately, knowing the house, empty of him, would welcome nothing but demonized sleep. The path ahead: completely unknown. Breathe.
She is not ready. Heartbreak still lingers. She shouldn't be here, in this bar, out when she is tired. But what, otherwise: another night of deadening television... So she dressed up. Red dress. Red lips. She looks up. Yes, he is handsome. And then...
Staring at each other through steam rising from the coffee cupped in each hand. No understanding. Silence. Pain. Frustration of months.
Deadening silence.