On My Own – The Used
She was with him again. He felt it in his bones, in his heart. Because he did have one – a heart, afterall he is human. Most times he's human.
He was passing the streets, driving in his car after he'd felt her leave him again. She always left him, for the other. Though she didn't really leave him. For that to happen he'd have to admit her into his life, into him. And he wasn't ready for that. And she wasn't ready for that. So she didn't really leave him.
There were people on the sidewalk, some alone, some holding hands. He'd never held her hand, but he'd held her body. That must have counted for something. Surely, holding hands and holding bodies were the same thing. But then, he remembered holding her body as she fell, fell into his hands. No, they weren't the same thing, but they were. Holding bodies and holding her body, were totally different things. She was what made it different. So they were the same thing and they were different. Just like them together.
His phone rang, and it sounded out her ringtone. He took the phone in his hand – was this close enough to holding hands? For him, it would have to be. At least until she really came back to him.
