My little Butterflies.

Tuesday, March 6, 2012


 Her; She's in her room, sitting on the floor, blocking the door so no one bothers her. With the music up loud, playing his favourite songs, and all of theirs. She has her phone in her hand hoping and wishing he'd text or call. Makeup running down her face from all the tears she can't help from falling down slowly. Replaying all of their memories and fun times, but mostly their last conversation. Wishing she said things differently than she did, thinking to herself she'll never ever get him back.

Him; He's in his room. Laying on his bed, his phone off. The music on, with the volume up high. Stuff thrown everywhere. His eyes red from crying and the door locked so no one could enter. Replaying their last conversation in his head, thinking of what to do but not sure, so whatever, thinking so much, he's about to flip. Red hands from hitting things. What if she never comes back?

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