my life after you

"Here, happy birthday," she gave him a handmade book.

"My life before you," he whispered the title.

She had been working on the book for the past five years. Among its pages, polaroid pictures of random useless things, pictures of a younger version of herself surrounded by younger versions of family and friends, love letters never sent, pink, green, red, blue, and black journal entries, drawings, hearts, unicorns, and stars, and the photo booth picture they took of themselves on their third date in the last page.

She could see his heart smiling for the first time in a long time. They dived into a deep embrace. Tears and smiles.

In bed she felt naked, empty, relieved. She stared at him all night while listening to her loud and incisive heartbeat.

He had not notice her shoes were not on his way to the bed as they always were.

* * * * *

The following morning he woke up in an empty bed and unsuccessfully whispered her name and stood up and clumsily walked to the bathroom and stepped on a left foot green Carolina Herrera shoe and fell down.

"Breakfast is ready," he could hear from the kitchen.

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