He wanders in and out of shops until he catches himself in one he's sure he's been in about six times in the past hour. He can't tell since, fuck, everything seems to have blurred into one smoggy, smeary mess.
Everything except for her.
Her chocolaty curls manage to stand out even though that blur in his head is probably the same colour. He swears the shop's lights are being deliberately elusive as they sparkle like her eyes, dodging him has he turns his head slowly.
He tries to step into a café for a cup of tepid coffee but she won't let him, her scent bringing back recollections that make his heart clench and unclench in a painful dance.
He abandons his plan to attempt to warm himself and sets foot in an apothecary to pick up his potions ingredients. He knows though, that no amount of wormwood or lavender will be able to dull this growing ache pulsating inside his heart.
After all, there is no cure for a broken heart.