Author's Note: So I don't know how "beautiful" or "tragic" this was, but it's definitely sad. tw: sadness.

Day Two-Hundred Four: Sad Beautiful Tragic by Taylor Swift

She fingered the worn piece of notebook paper in her pocket. She had buried it deep under a pack of gum, a rock her niece had given her, and a glove. Although the gum, rock, and glove had all been attempts to keep her from continuously thinking about and touching the letter, they were all in vain. Whenever she put her hand in her pocket, her fingers immediately dove for the paper.

She'd read it over and over and over again, examining every little loop, every line, and every dot he had taken the time to write out in cursive. She never knew he could write as beautifully as he had for this long letter.

She stood in front of the big, black iron gates. She tore her fingertips away from the piece of paper to touch the locket on her neck. In the background, she could faintly hear the sound of the train passing by, but all she could really hear and focus on was the sound of her own heart beating. She felt like it was about to leap out of her chest.

Her fingers settled themselves on the edge of the locket, daring to open it up and break her heart all over again. In that moment, she wondered what she ever did to deserve this. She'd always been a good girl who wanted nothing more but to find the one person whose photo she could put in a locket. She'd waited for a while. But she never imagined it would be like this.

She had met Toby the summer before, right after she moved back into that little town she grew up in. He was working part-time in a coffee shop, where she naturally spent her free Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday afternoons. He had the Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday shifts, so he often saw her sit at the corner table with a Hemingway or Nabokov novel, sipping on her extra-dark roast coffee. He took it upon himself, one day, to make her coffee and bring it to the table for her, along with a chocolate croissant.

She looked up from reading Lolita to see a man with crystal blue eyes, a coffee, and croissant, in front of her.

"Can I help you?" she inquired.

"I just thought that you might want another coffee and croissant while you're reading. On me," he insisted before leaving the coffee and French pastry on the table.

She stared at the offerings skeptically for a moment before taking a reluctant bite out of the pastry. It was delicious.

In the next coming weeks, it became a regular occurrence. The female barista who worked with this beautiful stranger often wrote a little heart next to her name on the cup when it was busy. He usually blushed when he brought the pastry and coffee to the table and she smirked and teased when she saw the little hearts next to her name. Things didn't escalate between the two of them until a few months later in mid-winter. On cold and snowy Tuesdays and Thursdays, the shop was essentially empty and it would just be the two of them. She'd often prompt him to sit with her and they would talk. Soon, the talking became flirtatious until he asked her out on a date in mid-February, probably around Valentine's Day. With a blush, she accepted.

The honeymoon stage had been long and beautiful. All throughout the end of winter and the spring, their relationship blossomed. It was—for lack of a better word—magical. Something about it just reminded her of a fairytale she was told a thousand times—only with different princesses each time—when she was a little girl.

Then, when the summer came, he announced that he was looking to move to New York City. He needed to take some test to be certified in architecture—the field he was studying diligently to have a career in—and they only gave this test in a few places, one of which being New York. Although she was happy for him, she felt like the timing couldn't be worse; they were just starting to get rather serious in their relationship. Although it had only been about five or six months since they started dating, they were already discussing the idea of moving in together. The timing couldn't be worse. To make things even more complicated, the distance had been…frustrating, to say the least. As he was getting settled in New York near the end of the summer, the distance became unbearable for her and it led to some fights and meltdowns. They were coupled by bouts of silence that seemed to stress on for eternity. Eventually, one of them—they would often seemingly take turns—would give in and call and they would metaphorically kiss and make up. The more they did that, however, the more she found herself resenting him. She just wanted him to listen to her. More than anything, she wanted him to be there for her. Even though she knew that he was there in spirit or whatever it was that people always said, she wanted to know that he was thinking about her or at least cared about her more often. She feared being forgotten now that he had a ginormous metropolis of opportunity in front of him.

The last time he called her was to tell her that he was coming back after he found out he passed the exam. He had missed her and she couldn't wait to come back. She was relieved, but she couldn't help but get a bit frustrated that it had taken this long. When she said something about it, he got equally as annoyed. They hung up, both upset and tense, but he was still coming home. She tried calling Toby a little while after, but assumed that he was driving and decided it would be best not to call him. She wished she had, though; those would've been better last words to him, hopefully.

It was a horrible car accident. A drunk driver she didn't think she could ever really forgive had been…well, drunk,and had slammed his car into Toby's. He'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. And now, she never had a chance to make it up to him. More than anything, she hated the way she had let the conversation end.

A few days later, a letter had arrived at her apartment. It was like some cruel act of fate. She opened a mysterious letter written in impressive cursive to find that it had been set to her from New York before Toby died.

Toby had said something about being sorry that his words were too little too late. She found herself wondering what she'd ever done for fate to be so cruel to her. She wanted so much to be able to tell him how sorry she was and how stupid she was being, but no amount of words would be enough to express it, not that he could even hear it now.

Now, it was the very beginning of winter. The streets were bare and cold; the trees were stripped of all their leaves. On her way to the cemetery, she had seen some initials carved in the trunks of some trees. She smiled sadly at the marks of young, stupid love. She felt like she had some initials carved on her skin and in her heart; time was taking its sweet time letting the marks fade.

She walked slowly over to the headstone she sought. The next train passed, indicating to her just how long she had been standing there, thinking. A small part of her almost wished the train passing by would run off its tracks so she could join him. Sometimes, she found the days and life to be excruciatingly unbearable now that she knew there was no chance of spending any more time with Toby—no more walks in the park, shared coffees, discussions of classic novels, arguing over where they were ordering takeout from…none of that would ever happen anymore. He was gone.

Her fingers searched for the paper again. She pulled it out slowly. She finally opened it and looked at his neat cursive, all the loops and lines and dots in all their glory. She could even see the places where she had begun to tear up; her teardrops had caused the blue ink to smear on the page. The edges of the paper had begun to soften after being read and folded to many times. She held it close to her heart, close to the locket, just to feel some sort of closeness to him.

She walked over to the grey marble headstone and stared at it. Seeing his name there with the date of his birth and death, with only the small hyphen in between, made her both irate and devastated. How could one stupid line be the only indication of his entire life?

She really thought that at this time, she would've been planning a wedding or at least organizing things in their own house; she never expected to have to be grieving him.

She bent down and began to speak to him. She wished she could stay there with him forever, but that would certainly make her crazy, now wouldn't it? She lay down a single perfect red rose right next to his name. She knew he liked them the most.

She told him about how sometimes, he still was there in her dreams. He'd be there with her and he'd talk to her. He would tell her, in these dreams, all about how much he missed her and how she was certainly his weakness. She confessed how he was her one and only weakness. She told him all about how lonely she was now that he was gone; her bed felt empty and cold without him. She told him, more than anything, about how sorry she was that she had let things end as they had. At the end of her one-sided conversation, she found herself wiping away bitterly cold tears. Those fairytales had certainly never warned her about sad, beautiful, tragic love stories; there was no story to prepare her for that.

"I'll love you forever."

MilaMizz: Are you feeling sad about this? I hope you are (no offense). That's good. I wished I knew a way to help you. Immersing yourself in French, perhaps? Listening to French songs? Reading French? Looking ahead in textbooks? idk. What ended? Anyway, thank you for reviewing.

AL3110:OMG are you kidding me? First of all, I'm all for music, even the stuff I consider "trash" music, because they're all sort of music. I consider them all to be art (some of it is like my little cousins coloring when they were like four, though, while others *cough lana marina cough* are like Manets and Monets and other stuff I consider to be my favorite kinds of art). I can't. And NO, not like the other woman. Not the same. No. Don't. No.

Tomorrow's one-shot is going to be Born to Die by Lana Del Rey and it's sort of like a part two for #75 (which was Ride by Lana Del Rey). I've been told this can be really risky, but I'm willing to take the risk. If it sucks, totally forget BTD even existed. Just expunge it from your memories.

And also, I have my house competition tomorrow, so please, please, PLEASE send me some good vibes because I REALLY want to win again this year. #GoMerrick -Kayson