AN: I felt depressed so I wrote this.
The love he felt for her was all consuming and the most potent feeling he had ever come across in his life. It scared him that he didn't see it coming. It was like a lightning bolt from heaven, that struck him suddenly. No it crept up on him soft, like a lamb, so that he didn't even see it before he realised it.
They were never meant to fall in love. It just didn't make logical sense. They didn't fit right. Like two pieces from opposite sides of the jigsaw, like two parallel lines. Always running together, but never meeting. It was just plain wrong. But it was so right.
It was an ordinary day. He was going to his job and she was going to meet friends in the city centre. He saw her from across the street. He bumped into her on the street. Both going there opposite ways, he looked down at her face and saw her perfect eyes. Green met brown and the lines collided.
The passion they felt for each other was so strong to the point that it was almost painful. An inferno of the heart. But not love. Never love. It was just to wrong.
Things took off from there. And every night, they met up. They talked about life and everything apart from that. But they didn't do anything else. Just talked. Every night for 7 years. They talked. He was Her best friend. She was His best friend. And the world made sense. The inferno never went out, it just got covered.
The world tilted on its axis when his tongue met her skin. She tasted like earth and warm water. And the fire was let loose again. Seven years from when it had first been light. But it still wasn't love.
It was lust, passion, the inferno taking its destructive course. Burning their every fibre into ash. He never knew despair until he kissed her, and she never knew suicide until she kissed him back, but damnation was divine. They loved the feeling of falling. And together they fell.
He felt numb standing in front of her casket. It was closed. It would've been too painful to have it open. To have an open casket is the most heartbreaking and horrible thing. They are not 'peaceful' they are haunting and sickeningly white. Seeing someone like that isn't how you want to remember them. And he wanted to remember as the powerful, beautiful woman that she was.
It was a cold, rainy November night when he heard the knock on his door. And there she was stood, with a look of anger on her face. A look of determination.
"We can't keep on doing this." That was all she said.
"You think you haven't said this before? It never changes what you want." His voice sounded hollow, void of any emotion. He had trained it to be that way."
"Your right. But I can't be with you." He eyes stayed hard as stone. Replicated by what his heart was slowing turning to.
"So come inside." And just once his voice cracked. His hardened front faded and it killed him.
"Goodbye." And she turned and walked away.
His heart shattered then. But it still wasn't love.
So much pain caught up in the years they spent together. Pain strong enough to kill. But he didn't regret it. Not once.
They didn't see each other after that for three years. And the lines were parallel again. Until he saw her from across the dance floor in a nightclub. And the inferno was ignited again. He grabbed her hand and kissed her hard on the mouth. Her kiss was as salty as his dim memories always whispered, still tasted like earth and warm water. But there were three years of difference in that patch of kiss, a tiny scar that had been unseen by him. And the lines crashed and burned together. But it still wasn't love.
As he stood over her grave stone years on and traced over the letters engraved into the granite his heart bled for her.
"It was love." He whispered and a tear fell from his eye, and landed on the patch of grass beneath him. It took him to long to realise. He missed his chance and now she was gone. As the wind blew around him it seemed to whisper back the words he so desperately wanted to hear.
"I know."