One had a girl in a bright red dress, walking her dog along Central Park, walking towards a man in a suit. Another had a little girl crying on the swingset, but there was a young blond around her age handing her a balloon. The next picture was taken from behind, an old couple sitting on a park bench. The old man had his arm around the woman as she layed her head on his shoulder. By the time he reached the sixteenth picture, he finally realized that he missed Raine. Xander took a deep breath, running a hand through his messy hair. He decided to develop that picture of the old couple tomorrow.
He gently closed his laptop and placed the notebook in front of him, continuing to tap it with his pen. Writing wasn't his strong point, but he missed Raine, and deep down he wanted to know if she missed him too. He felt empty without her. It took him half an hour to even just write the greeting. Xander Lake had no idea how to write a letter, especially not to her. Never to her. He was always so scared that it never made sense.
He started jotting down things on his mind, like anyone would do. He talked about his pictures, his job as a photographer, and without his own knowledge he started writing about her. It looked more like an aweful paper a college student would give his professor instead of a friendly letter to a friend, so he decided to throw it away.
Xander closed his eyes and sighed. Never has he felt so empty, so void of life. He knew very well that he needed her, but deep inside him he knew he was scared to fall in love again. He messed his hair up a bit more, yawning as he stood up. As he made his way to his bed he wondered if it was worth the time to sleep. He didn't bother bathing or even eating. He decided that his ears were much too accustomed to the silence and his skin to the dryness for him to open the shower and wet himself with cold water.
He took his shoes off then his shirt, leaving him in jeans that are never meant for sleeping. He threw the covers to the empty side of his bed, where Raine is supposed to be sleeping with him. He closed his eyes and decided that it's too early, and that the reason she is no longer with him is that they were trying so desperately to fall in love. Some part of him was broken, and so was she. The right thing in the wrong time, after all, is still the wrong thing.
Just like the frame on his work table, like the letter he tried to write, like the space beside him on his bed, Alexander Lake was empty.