New Story! I will dive deep into this one when I wrap-up A Kiss For the Irishman (soon), but I thought I'd post the prologue now to see if people are interested. This is inspired by the movie 500 Days of Summer—if you haven't seen it SPOILER ALERT—telling the story from the point of view of the girl (Sybil). It doesn't mimic the action in the movie, and you don't have to have seen the movie to understand what's happening, but the basic premises are that (1) not every relationship is meant to last forever and (2) love doesn't make sense until it does.

Hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you think.

Love is full of all kinds of clichés.

The one Sybil Crawley found most irritating was the idea that it hurts to have your heart broken but not to break someone else's.

This, Sybil thought, is simply not true.

After Sybil broke her best friend's heart, for a time after the fact, she believed she would never be a whole person again. She'd broken up with people before, but not like this. She was miserable that she'd made him so sad and angry that he'd given her the power to do so. She was free again, but felt trapped by the freedom the break up had afforded because if she enjoyed herself too much, their mutual friends would think she was insensitive. If she wallowed like she knew he would, they'd think Sybil was mad for having cut him off in the first place.

He got the sympathy. Sybil got the cold shoulders—or worse, the questions and recriminations: Why? But you were so perfect together! He's such a nice bloke! What's wrong with you?

Because she wasn't happy. No, they were not, in fact, perfect together. Yes, he's incredibly nice, the nicest person she knew, but someone can be nice and still not be the person for you.

But that last question.

What's wrong with you?

That's the one that always tripped her up. Why did something have to be wrong with Sybil? So she didn't subscribe to the idea that being with someone was her sole purpose in life. She didn't want a Disney prince to sweep her off her feet. She considered love an invention by people who sold flowers and chocolates. She hated that her gender was raised to be a slave to it. She didn't need it, and in the end, she didn't need him. He needed her too much. It was stifling. Love was stifling.

Breaking up takes a piece of your soul but nobody thinks about the feelings of the dumper. Only the dumpee.

It had been a month, but Sybil remembered the day like it had happened yesterday.

They'd eaten sandwiches in the park.

They'd spent the whole day together, in fact.

They'd gone to the shops.

They'd gone to her favorite café and had a cuppa. She read a book, while he read the newspaper.

They'd gone to the cinema.

They'd gone to his favorite music shop, and she'd rolled her eyes as he swooned over a Ringo Starr album. (Ringo? Really? She'd thought. He was mostly joking, of course, but her irritation with him, now building for weeks, clouded her impression of what she was seeing. And, from within his own personal bubble of one-sided love, he missed the fact that they clearly were not on the same page.)

Then, they'd gone for a bite. It was early, but a new place had opened near his flat that served breakfast all day. He was keen to try it. Sybil had no reason not to go along. She was hungry.

"God, I love eating pancakes at night," he said after they'd ordered. "It's like the greatest thing ever. How great is this?"

Sybil had been unhappy that whole day. Nothing in her demeanor was trying to hide the fact, but he didn't see it. He wouldn't see it. He was having a grand time out with his girlfriend, who was exhausted from a shitty week at work. And he couldn't see it. He couldn't see her. And his seemingly innocuous question finally broke Sybil.

How great is this?

Pretty fucking NOT great is what it is.

"I think we should stop seeing each other," she said.

There it was.

What she'd been wanting to say for so long, but couldn't bring herself to do so because it would bring, she knew, the expression on his face that he was wearing right now. Ironically, Sybil thought, looking into his eyes just then, that this was the first time he was seeing her. The real Sybil, and not the perfect woman he'd created in his own mind to fall in love with. But it was too late.

"This thing," she said, taking a deep breath. "This whatever it is. You and me. Do you think this is normal?"

"I don't know," he said calmly, though she could see him trying to fight off the agitation. "Who cares about normal?! I'm happy. Aren't you happy?"

"You're happy?" Sybil asked, a measure of frustration seeping out.

"You're not?"

"All we do is argue!" She exclaimed.

"That is such a lie!"

Sybil's shoulders dropped as she let out a sigh. The willful ignorance was back. "This can't be a total surprise. I mean, we've been like Sid and Nancy for months!"

"Sybil, Sid stabbed Nancy seven times with a kitchen knife. We've had some disagreements but I hardly think I'm Sid Vicious."

"No, I'm Sid."

"So I'm Nancy?!" He asked skeptically.

Sybil spied the server coming with their food, happy for the break. It was foolish and, she had to admit, plainly insensitive to have done it like this—in a public place, at the start of a meal, rather than the end. This wasn't how she'd meant for it to go, and now that she was in the thick of it, she was grateful for the reprieve. Cowardly, maybe, but her point was not to hurt him, only to have him wake up.

"Let's just eat and we'll talk about it after," she said. "I'm starving."

He sat still and stared as she tucked in. She was afraid to look up because she knew what she'd see in his eyes. Heartbreak. She couldn't deny it. She had, she knew, for all intents and purposes, broken his heart. No, she wasn't in love with him, never had been, really, but she still cared for him as a friend. He was perhaps the closest she'd ever had. And seeing him hurt also hurt her.

So she tried to take a page from his book—avoidance.

"Mmm, you're so right. These are great!"

He couldn't stomach a bite of it.

"What?" Sybil asked, trying to goad him into reacting in some way.

He didn't say anything. Instead, he stood up to go.

"Tom, don't," she called out. "Come back. You're still my best friend!"

Those were the last words that she'd spoken to Tom Bellasis.

That was how the two years ended. The two weeks were about to begin.