A Snap Shot
Disclaimer: I don't own a damn thing!
AN: Enjoy

A Snap Shot:
You Have Been The One For Me

There's just something about a goodbye kiss... The finality about the man she loves, the man who she had tried oh so desperately to stop loving, looking at her that way. There's a slant of worry and anguish in those beautiful golden eyes. And his mouth, that perfect mouth, turning down at the corners because he's hurting just as bad and she knows it.

He takes that final step into her space. His hand, his rough calloused fingers from too many years of hockey, tilt her chin up to look at him as if she could look anywhere else. It's sweet really, how he can be so delicate when he wants to be. He treats her like glass; fragile. And to his defense, she was.

He's not that tall and she's not that short but the difference in the inches between their lips feels like miles she desperately wants to eliminate. She feels herself tilting onto her tippy toes before she even thinks to do it. Her hands find themselves pressed up against the sturdiness of his chest. His warmth bleeds into her palms like power being pulled from the source. She tries to steady herself against him, because he's her anchor, always has been.

The ghost of his breath tickles her face. She wants to laugh, but can't. She's too busy trying to memorize every detail of the moment because she knows it's the last memory they'll have together.

Sure, she'll see him around. But it won't be the same. It won't be like this. And this...this was magic. Tragic and beautiful all the way through.

Suddenly, his mouth is on hers. She's not sure who closed the distance. Maybe they both did. Whatever it was, they're kissing. The kiss is soft and sweet; textbook fairytale rated G kind of thing. Not because they lack passion or desire, but because they had too much of it, to begin with. It was a simple understood fact that if they deepen the kiss, if they push for more...they would never walk away from each other.

She feels a tear or two slide down her cheeks. She didn't even realize she was crying. But it's fitting, isn't it? With the hollow pit in her stomach, her heart aching in her chest, naturally her eyes follow as well. She tastes the tears between their mouths like memories, and maybe that makes her want to cry some more.

His fingers slide across her jaw and into her hair; he's grounding himself into the moment, she can feel it in her bones. She allows herself the small pleasure of inhaling his scent. She does it slowly, knowing nothing will ever come close.

And then he's ripping himself away from her like a band-aid. She feels the tug of her heart as he walks away like he's taking a part of her with him. He is.

He doesn't say a word, he doesn't have to. She doesn't want him to. Cause she might go and do something stupid like beg him to stay and everyone involved knows that's not a good idea.

She doesn't watch him leave. She can't. Instead, she closes her eyes and lets her body slide down the hallway wall, as the sob claws its way up her chest and throat. When she hears her front door close behind him, she explodes.

How many times can he break her heart?
(How many times had she broken his?)

AN:Enjoy!