sometimes
oo
Sometimes she sits there and just misses him having to be away.
She hates it, all of it, but she's there—she'll always be there—to wait for him, to stand behind him, but that doesn't make her hate it any less. Sometimes they have their problems, their short, little, arguments about nothing that's really important to either of them. Sometimes she thinks they fight just to fight, but she's not really sure anymore.
She loves him—she really does—and she knows that she will probably never stop loving him. She thinks their tiny little love story is something of a tragedy—doomed, but it keeps on rolling. She's tired—both of them are, really—but she can't let him go.
Sometimes she thinks it's because she can't stand to see him with someone else, but she doesn't know how much more she can handle anymore. She's tired—so tired—but this was her favorite love story; they were her favorite love story. But at times, she just sits there, stares out her bedroom window, and misses him. The feeling envelopes her, devours her, and drowns her in all of the sadness she feels. There's no way out, there's nobody out there to help her, no one to hear her cries.
Because just when she thinks they've made it, they start to fall apart again.