She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. Nothing would ever be the same again. She would never again be able to tell him how she felt about him. It was too late.

It wasn't love. She was too young for love. But whatever she felt was strong and warm and full of possibilities. It wasn't love, but it was so close that she felt that love was within her reach, simply fluttering above her outstretched hand….

And yet she'd hesitated. Time and time again. Why? She does not know. Maybe because she's afraid of letting anyone close. She doesn't really like herself so how can she expect others to like her? Or maybe she's just a coward. Maybe she just doesn't want to let herself be happy because life has already thought her, at the tender age of seventeen, that happiness doesn't last forever. Maybe she's scared to let herself feel that happiness, because she knows it'll soon be over…that reality will always hover above her like a stormy rain cloud…that she would never be free

And it was too late. She knew that now. It was too late. Too much had happened. He'd suffered too much. He'd grown up too much. He'd seen too many things and done so many things…how could he ever settle with a girl like her? How could he ever really love her?

The insecurities swallowed her whole, clouding her judgement, but through the cloud she could still see him as he turned and slowly walked away from her, a slight hesitation in his step…he was an adult now, he knew what he was doing, where he was going in life, and yet still she worried about him…she probably always would…she would probably always care…