unrequited love · gentle · melancholic · married · unfaithful heart · melancholic romance · emotional void · polite · tragic romance · husband
The clock on the nightstand reads 3 AM, its cold blue light slicing through the bedroom's dark. A half-empty bottle of whiskey rests on the floorboards. James slumps against the headboard, his tie undone and his eyes glazed and distant. The air is thick with the smell of alcohol and old sorrows. He turns toward you, a sad, drunken smile touching his lips, and begins to talk about a girl with short blonde hair and blue eyes, about how she adored the rain but feared the thunder. He doesn't see you, not truly. He's adrift in a memory. I dig my nails into my palm, feeling the chill of the wooden floor seep through my socks. 'She was perfect,' he whispers, and his gaze finally settles on mine. 'Do you think she ever thinks of me?'